-  ■^vir^esKifaifyjasKxr.ntrdia, 


'^J'ij'.'/»'/M^ 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE   COLLECTION  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINIANA 


C813 
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FOR  USE  ONLY  IN 
THE  NORTH  CAROLINA  COLLECTION 


MISS  CHURCHILL 


A    STUDY 


BY 

CHRISTIAN    REID 

AUTHOR  OF   "EOXNT  KATE."   "  A  SITMjrER  TDTT.."   "MORTON  HOrSE,"   "VALERIE 
AYLMER,"   "  KINA'S  ATONEMENT,"    "  HEART  OF  STEEL,"   ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
D.    APPLETOX    AND    COMPANY 

1887 


COPTKIGHT,   1887, 

By  D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 


MISS  CHURCHILL :  A  STUDY. 


BOOK  I. 

AMONG    THE    PINES, 


CHAPTEE   I. 

To  one  unaccustomed  to  their  aspect,  there  are  per- 
haps few  things  more  melancholy  than  the  great  pine- 
forests  of  the  South.  Their  vast  extent,  their  absolute 
monotony,  the  total  lack  of  other  growth  or  any  pict- 
uresque features  connected  with  the  landscape,  render 
them  oppressive  in  the  extreme  to  one  who  journeys 
through  them  for  the  first  time,  or  who  takes  up  his 
abode  among  them  reluctantly.  But  to  one  who  has 
lived  long  in  their  midst,  or  to  the  new-comer  of  poetic 
soul,  there  is  a  strange  fascination  in  this  region  of  ap- 
parent gloom.  Stateliest  of  all  evergreens,  the  giant 
trees  rise  to  an  immense  height,  giving  a  great  sense 
of  space  below.  Between  their  sj^lendid  trunks  one 
walks  as  through  the  pillared  aisles  of  a  vast  cathedral, 
while  overhead  the  sea-like  murmur  of  their  plumy 
branches  fills  the  air,  and  underfoot  their  fragrant 
needles,   interspersed   here   and    there    with   resinous 


4  MISS  CHURCHILL:   A  STUDY. 

cones,  cover  the  earth  as  with  a  carpet.  Balsamic  odors 
are  inhaled  with  every  breath,  and  some  aspects  of 
beauty  strike  tlie  observant  eye  so  strongly  that  they 
can  never  be  forgotten — serried  ranks  of  spear-like 
pines,  ranged  like  embattled  Titans  against  a  stormy 
sunset ;  deep-green  crests  stretching  with  solemn  majes- 
ty toward  a  far,  golden  horizon ;  or  a  close-girdling 
wood,  full  of  the  suggestion  of  infinite  melancholy,  as 
the  trees  lift  their  dark  boughs  against  a  cold,  gray  sky. 
These  pictures,  and  many  more,  came  as  familiar 
memories  to  a  man  who  for  the  first  time  in  twenty 
years  found  himself  traveling  through  the  pine-lands. 
All  day  long  the  railroad-car  in  which  he  sat  had  been 
filled  with  the  unflattering  comments  of  travelers,  new 
to  the  country,  on  the  gloomy  and  monotonous  scenes 
presented  to  their  view ;  but  Bernard  Lysle,  wdio  had 
seen  pretty  much  everything  that  the  world  could 
show,  from  tropical  jungles  to  Russian  steppes,  sat 
silent,  gazing  out  of  the  window  beside  him  and  recall- 
ing the  half-forgotten  memories  of  his  early  youth. 
He  had  been  a  mere  child  when  he  first  saw  these  som- 
ber forests,  coming  with  his  father  from  the  far  Cana- 
dian JSTorth  in  search  of  health  for  the  latter.  In  the 
pine-lands — not  then  so  well  known  as  they  are  now 
for  their  salubrious  qualities — Mr.  Lysle  gained,  if  not 
health,  at  least  a  longer  lease  of  life  ;  and  here  he  spent 
the  greater  part  of  several  years.  Eecollection  of  these 
years  thronged  upon  Bernard  as  the  great  forest  opened 
its  interminable  vistas  to  his  gaze.  They  were  recollec- 
tions of  scenes  and  people  changed  or  vanished  now  in 
the  storm  of  war  that  had  burst  over  them.  At  the 
first  muttering  of  that  storm,  Mr.  Lysle  had  left  the 


AMONG   TEE  PINES.  5 

conntiy,  taking  the  reluctant  boy  who,  then  of  the  ma- 
ture age  of  thirteen,  ardently  longed  to  become  a  sol- 
dier. Ruthlessly  making  an  end  of  these  warlike  aspi- 
rations, his  father  hurried  away,  and  from  that  time  to 
the  present  Bernard  had  not  looked  again  upon  the  soft 
Southern  sky,  the  solemn  Southern  pines. 

"When  the  death  of  Mr.  Lysle  occurred,  a  year  or  so 
later,  the  boy  was  sent  to  England  for  his  education, 
and  he  had  never  returned  to  America  until  a  few 
months  before  the  day  that  saw  him  traveling  through 
the  pine-lands.  It  was  not  curiosity  alone  that  had 
drawn  him  back  to  these  scenes  of  his  yonth,  but  an 
interest  which  had  been  strong  enough  to  survive  the 
great  length  of  time  that  had  elapsed  smce  his  depart- 
ure. Chief  among  the  friends  of  those  childish  days 
had  been  the  family  of  Governor  Churchill,  one  of  the 
foremost  men  of  the  State,  to  whom  his  father  had 
carried  letters  of  introduction,  and  who  had  made  them 
welcome  with  the  open-handed  hospitality  of  the  South, 
both  in  his  summer  lodge  among  the  pine-lands  and  at 
his  great  estate  upon  the  seaboard.  To  the  last — the 
old  seat  of  the  family — Bernard  had  paid  many  visits, 
and  his  special  friend  had  been  Hugh  Churchill,  a  boy 
two  or  three  years  older  than  himself,  although  at  that 
time  Bernard's  quicker  intelligence  had  made  him  seem 
the  elder.  The  difference  in  age  told,  however,  in  the 
fact  that,  before  the  war  ended,  Hugh,  like  the  rest  of 
his  class  and  generation,  was  old  enough  to  bear  arms 
and  make  a  campaign  or  two,  of  which  his  friend  at 
school  in  England  heard  with  regretful  envy.  The 
war  over,  some  communication  passed  between  them ; 
but  young  Churchill  was  absorbed  in  the  terrible  strug- 


6  MISS  CHUECHILL:    A  STUDY. 

gle  for  existence  of  those  days,  and  his  friend's  letters 
remained  unanswered  and  finally  ceased.  Lysle,  on  his 
side,  had  many  things  to  occupy  him  and  drive  old 
memories  from  his  mind.  But  when  circumstances  at 
last  led  his  wandering  footsteps  back  to  America,  he  at 
once  recalled  to  mind  his  old  friend,  and  wrote  to  him. 
After  long  delay  a  reply  reached  him,  bearing  the  post- 
mark of  a  town  in  tlie  interior  of  the  State. 

''  I  have  been  living  here  for  ten  years,"  Churchill 
wrote,  "  life  on  the  sea-coast  having  become  unbearable 
through  the  worthlessness  and  insubordination  of  the 
negroes.  The  sea-islands  are  abandoned,  the  rice-fields 
hardly  worked  at  all ;  so,  giving  up  in  despair  the  hope 
of  doing  anything  on  the  old  estate,  I  came  here,  bought 
a  few  hundred  acres,  and  manage  to  live.  Will  you 
come  and  see  how  ?  There  is  no  one  I  would  rather 
see  than  yourself,  and  my  w^ife  will  be  delighted  to 
meet  you.  Did  you  know  that  I  have  a  wife  ?  I  do 
not  think  that  I  have  heard  from  you  or  written  to  you 
since  my  marriage.  Come,  then,  and  see  me  in  my 
character  oi  jpater  farailiasP 

Lysle  smiled  over  this  letter,  and  felt  that  he  should 
very  much  like  to  see  the  writer  again.  A  few  days 
later,  therefore,  found  him  traveling  toward  the  small 
town  of  Oldfield,  situated  in  the  midst  of  the  pine-belt. 
It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  a  soft  autumn  day  when 
he  reached  his  destination,  and  as  he  stepped  from  the 
train  his  hand  was  seized  by  a  tall,  handsome  man  with 
laughing  eyes  and  bold,  clear-cut  features,  whose  slight 
shabbiness  of  dress  could  not  conceal  an  air  of  personal 
distinction. 

"  Bernard,  my  dear  fellow,  how  delighted  I  am  to 


AMONG   TEE  PmES,  7 

Bee  you  again  !  "  lie  cried,  m  a  cordial  voice.  ^'  This  is 
what  I  call  a  compliment  indeed — to  come  so  far  to 
look  up  an  old  friend." 

"My  dear  Hugh,  I  would  have  gone  much  farther 
to  look  yau  up,"  answered  Lysle. 

And  then,  since  the  first  moments  of  meeting,  after 
long  separation,  are  not  usually  moments  of  expansion, 
the  two  friends  regarded  each  other  silently  for  an  in- 
stant. What  Lysle  perceived  has  been  said  :  Churchill 
on  his  side  saw  a  small  man,  slightly  and  elegantly 
built,  with  something  peculiarly  refined  and  even  pict- 
uresque in  his  appearance,  with  keen  dark  eyes  that 
seemed  made  to  look  through  everything,  and  the  air 
and  manner  of  a  thorough  man  of  the  world.  It  was 
the  latter  whose  brief  scrutiny  ended  first,  and  who 
spoke  again. 

"  How  much  you  are  like  your  father,  Hugh !  I 
should  have  known  you  anywhere  by  that  likeness ;  but 
how  did  you  know  me  ?  " 

Churchill  laughed.  "  If  you  could  see  yourself," 
lie  said,  "  you  would  not  need  to  ask.  Not  many  peo- 
ple of  your  stamp  appear  in  Oldfield.  Then,  after  all, 
you  are  not  greatly  changed.  And  so  you  think  I  re- 
semble my  father  ?  I  am  glad  of  that,  though  I  shall 
never  be  the  courtly  gentleman  that  he  was — God 
bless  him !  "We  have  fallen  on  rough  days,  and  they 
leave  their  impress  on  me  as  well  as  on  others.  But 
this  way,  Bernard.     Here  is  my  trap." 

He  led  the  way  to  where  a  Jersey  wagon  stood,  in 
the  back  of  which  two  negroes  were  laboriously  assist- 
ing each  other  to  place  Lysle's  luggage.  The  equipage, 
like  its  owner's  coat,  was  somewhat  shabby;   but  the 


8  MISS   CEURCHILL:    A   STUDY. 

horses  were  handsome  and  well  groomed.  Churchill 
sprang  in  and  took  the  reins,  Lysle  followed,  and  the 
next  moment  they  were  driving  rapidly  through  the 
streets  of  Oldfield  and  thence  out  into  the  open 
country.  When  they  left  the  little  town  behind,  and 
the  great  pine-woods  closed  around  them,  filling  the 
nostrils  with  aromatic  odors,  while  the  wagon  rolled 
smoothly,  the  horses  trotted  briskly  over  the  level  road, 
Lysle  had  a  curious  sensation  as  if  all  the  memories  and 
feelings  of  his  youth  were  waiting  for  him  among  those 
solemn  and  majestic  trees. 

"  You  see  we  are  on  a  ridge,"  Churchill  explained. 
"  It  is  very  healthy  here,  as  the  pine-lands  mostly  are ; 
but  on  each  side  of  us  are  valleys  where  malaria 
exists.  Hence  every  one  endeavors  to  live  on  the 
ridge.  Oldfield  is  built  on  it,  as  you  observe,  and 
so  is  my  house,  though  my  plantation  lies  a  mile  or 
two  away." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  should  have  been  forced  to 
leave  your  beautiful  old  home,"  said  Lysle.  ''But  I 
hope  that  you  are  prospering  now." 

"  So-so,"  answered  the  other,  cheerily.  "  It  has 
been  a  hard  fight,  but  the  worst  is  over.  My  marriage 
looked  like  simple  madness  at  the  time  it  took  place, 
but  Nettie — that  is,  my  wife — was  left  an  orphan,  and 
I  felt  that,  if  I  ever  meant  to  take  care  of  her,  then  was 
the  time  to  do  it.  She  has  never  repented  our  rashness, 
nor  have  I.  '  Heaven  helps  those  who  help  themselves,' 
and  no  man  ever  found  a  more  willing  and  cheerful 
helpmate  than  she  has  been  to  me." 

"  Who  was  she  ?     Did  I  know  her  people  ? " 

"  Of  course  you  did — the  Derringers  !     They  were 


AMO^G   TEE  FINES.  9 

our  near  neiglibors.  Her  father  and  lier  brothers  fell 
in  the  war ;  her  mother  died  of  a  broken  heart  soon 
after ;  and  the  poor  little  girl  was  left  penniless — for  the 
ocean  might  as  well  have  risen  and  whelmed  our  sea- 
board estates,  for  all  the  good  they  were  to  us.  We 
struggled  on  separately  for  a  year  or  two,  and  then  I 
could  stand  it  no  longer.  'If  you  are  not  afraid,  Ket- 
tle,' I  said,  'come  and  let  us  try  it  together.'  She 
looks  like  a  flower,  but  she  has  the  courage  of  a  soldier. 
She  was  not  afraid.  For  several  years  we  endured 
more  privations  than  I  care  to  remember,  but  we  kept 
debt  and  starvation  at  bay,  and  now  we  are  '  out  of  the 
woods ' — Deo  g7'atias  !  " 

If  Lysle  smiled  at  the  tone,  there  was  none  the  less 
a  softening  of  the  bright  dark  eyes  which  showed  how 
his  heart  was  touched ;  for  he  knew  enough  to  be  able 
to  divine  much  that  was  hidden  under  the  story  so 
simply  told.  He  remembered  the  splendid  heritage  to 
which  the  speaker  had  been  born,  the  luxury  and  ease 
in  which  his  early  years  had  been  passed,  and  he  felt 
that  the  brave  gentlemen  of  the  past  had  no  cause  to 
blush  for  their  descendant. 

"  But,"  he  said,  after  a  short  pause,  "  had  you  not  a 
sister  ?  I  remember  a  fair-haired  little  girl  in  your 
father's  house." 

"  To  be  sure  I  had,  and  have,"  Churchill  answered. 
"  But  I  was  relieved  of  the  care  of  her  by  her  aunt — 
my  father  married  twice,  so  she  is  only  my  half-sister — 
who  insisted  on  taking  her  at  the  time  of  my  father's 
death,  and  with  whom  she  lived  until  about  two  years 
ago,  when  Mrs.  Austin  herself  died.  Since  then,  Cecil 
has  made  her  home  with  me.    I  believe  that  is  all  there 


10  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

is  to  know  of  us,  except  tjiat  I  Lave —    ^Vby,  hallo ! 
where  do  you  scamps  come  from  ?  " 

This  question  was  addressed  to  a  party  of  children 
who  suddenly  appeared  at  the  side  of  the  road,  and 
raised  a  shout  at  sight  of  the  wagon.  The  horses  shied 
a  little,  but  Churchill  jDulled  them  up ;  when  Lysle  saw 
that  the  group  was  composed  of  three  children  and  a 
young  lady  who  stood  a  little  farther  back  under  the 
pines. 

There  was  much  in  the  accident  of  time  and  place 
to  make  an  enduring  memory  of  this  his  first  sight  of 
Cecil  Churchill.  Through  tall,  straight  stems  the  sun- 
shine slanted,  full  of  the  golden  pathos  of  autumn,  the 
dark-green  foliage  overhead  stretched  away  with  the 
melancholy  aspect  that  only  pines  possess,  while  on  the 
verge  of  the  forest,  touched  by  mingled  light  and 
shadow,  this  figure  stood  with  the  dim  woodland  depths 
behind  it. 

A  graceful  figure — so  much  he  perceived  at  once — 
tall  for  a  woman,  as  her  brother  was  tall  for  a  man,  but 
slender  and  stately  as  the  trees  that  surrounded  her.  A 
broad  hat  of  rough  straw  was  pushed  back  from  a  face 
that  challenged  questioning  rather  than  immediate  ad- 
miration. "Was  it  beautiful  ?  Most  people  would  have 
answered  in  the  negative.  "  Striking,"  they  would 
have  said — "  interesting,"  they  might  have  added ;  but 
they  would  not  have  been  likely  to  admit  that  it  pos- 
sessed beauty.  Lysle,  however,  knew  many  types  of 
many  arts,  and  he  recognized  that  there  was  beauty  of  a 
striking  and  unusual  order  in  the  nobly  molded  feat- 
ures, in  the  wide  low  forehead  framed  by  hair  the  color 
of  an  oak-leaf  in  autumn,  in  the  eyes  deep-set  as  those 


AMO^^'G   THE  FIXES.  H 

of  antique  sculpture  under  level  brows,  in  the  lips 
whicli  were  exquisite  in  form  and  expression,  though 
too  thin  to  please  the  ordinary  taste;  even  in  the  pale, 
slightly  hollowed  cheeks  and  square  contour  of  chin.  It 
was  with  a  swift  glance  that  he  took  all  this  in,  while 
the  children  answered  the  question  with  which  Church- 
ill had  stopped : 

"  Take  up  jSTettie,  papa — Xettie's  tired." 

"  Yes,  take  her,  Hugh  ;  I  have  brought  her  too  far," 
said  the  young  lady. 

"  Yery  well,"  answered  Churchill,  good-humoredly. 
Then  he  added,  ^'  Here  is  my  sister,  Bernard." 

"  I  can  not  flatter  myself  that  Miss  Churchill  re- 
members me,"  said  Lysle,  springing  to  the  ground. 
But,  since  T  remember  her  very  well,  I  must  beg  to 
shake  hands." 

''  I  do  remember  you,  however,"  said  Miss  Church- 
ill, smiling  as  she  placed  her  hand  in  his.  '^  Children 
have  better  memories  than  people  fancy.  I  not  only 
remember  you,  but  I  remember  that  I  liked  you  best 
of  all  Hugh's  friends.  So  I  am  glad  that,  after  such 
long  years  of  absence  and  silence,  you  have  cared 
enough  for  him  to  come  to  see  him." 

She  spoke  with  a  gracious  sweetness  of  tone  and 
manner  that  charmed  him.  "What  can  I  say,"  he 
answered,  "  except  that  it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  you 
do  not  continue  to  like  me  best  of  all  Hugh's  friends? 
And,  as  a  beginning,  let  me  suggest  that  you,  as  well  as 
ISTettie,  come  with  us." 

"Come,  Cecil,"  said  Churchill.  "There  is  room 
enough  for  you  and  the  youngsters." 

"JSTo,  thank  you,"  she  replied.     "We  are  out  for 


12  MISS  CEURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

exercise,  and  would  rather  wallv.  But  Nettie  is  tired 
— take  lier." 

"  This  is  Nettie,  I  presume,"  said  Ljsle,  looking  at 
a  young  person,  apparently  about  three  years  old,  with 
long,  golden  curls  and  large  dark  eyes.  "  Will  made- 
moiselle allow  me  ? " 

He  lifted  her  into  the  wagon,  where  she  promptly 
took  refuge  between  her  father's  knees,  and  then  he 
turned  again  to  Miss  Churchill. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  are  so  resolutely  bent  on  ex- 
ercise," he  said ;  "  for  I  am  sure  these  young  gentlemen 
would  like  a  drive." 

"  Yery  likely,"  she  answered,  for  the  other  children 
— two  sturdy  boys  of  seven  and  nine  respectively — 
regarded  Nettie  with  evident  envy.  "But  they  are 
too  gallant  to  leave  me  to  walk  home  alone." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Lysle,  laughing  a  little,  "  if  you 
will  permit  me  to  accompany  you.  Pray,  do  not  re- 
fuse !  I  should  like  very  much  to  stretch  my  limbs 
after  sitting  in  a  railroad-car  all  day ;  and  to  renew  my 
acquaintance  with  my  old  friends  the  pine- woods." 

Miss  Churchill  did  not  refuse,  but  she  looked  at 
her  brother,  who  said,  easily  : 

"  Take  him  with  you,  Cecil. — And  now,  you  boys, 
if  you  want  to  drive,  up  with  you ! " 

The  boys  required  no  second  invitation.  They 
clambered  quickly  into  Lysle's  vacated  place,  and  the 
wagon  rolled  away  down  the  green  vista  of  the  road, 
leaving  the  two  old  yet  new  acquaintances  standing 
together  under  the  pines. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"I  HOPE  that  you  do  not  consider  me  very  pre- 
sumptuous, Miss  Cliurchill,"  said  Lysle,  turning  to  his 
companion  with  a  smile,  as  the  equipage  disappeared. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered.  ^'  I  think  it  very  natural 
that  you  should  prefer  to  walk  after  having  been  in  a 
railroad-car  all  day.  And  no  doubt  you  remember  how 
pleasant  it  is  among  the  pines." 

''  I  remember  very  well.  It  is  really  curious  how 
much  I  recollect  of  my  life  in  this  country,  considering 
what  an  interval  of  time  has  elapsed  since  I  left  here. 
Twenty  years !  That  is  long  at  any  period  of  exist- 
ence, but  in  youth  it  is  an  age.  I  have  before  my  eyes 
a  proof  of  what  it  can  do.  When  I  saw  you  last,  you 
were  Xettie's  age.     And  now —  " 

"  I  was  a  little  more  than  Nettie's  age,  or  perhaps 
I  should  not  remember  you,"  she  said.  '*!  was  five 
years  old  when  the  war  began — and  I  think  you  went 
away  then." 

"  Yes,  I  went  away  then — sadly  against  my  will.     I 

felt  that  I  was  leaving  untold  possibilities  of  glorious 

excitement  for  the   humdrum  of    ordinary  existence. 

Bat  I  have  learned  since  what  the  glorious  excitement 

of  war  means  when  one  comes  to  see  it  close  at  hand." 

"  You  have  seen  it  often,  have  you  not  ? " 
2 


14  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  Yerj  often.  I  have  been  a  war  correspondent, 
as  you  are  perhaps  aware.  In  that  capacity  I  went 
through  the  Franco-Prussian  War,  and  several  lesser 
campaigns.  When  I  was  younger  than  1  am  now,  I 
had  a  great  taste  for  adventure,  as  well  as  a  passion  for 
letters,  and  the  two  fancies  served  each  other  in  that 
way." 

"  What  a  great  thing  it  is  to  be  a  man  ! "  she  said, 
looking  at  him  with  the  most  evident  envy  shining  in 
her  eyes — eyes  that  he  now  saw  were  of  a  clear  and 
beautiful  golden-hazeh  "  You  could  make  your  ca- 
pacity serve  your  taste  ;  but  I — that  is,  a  woman — must 
submit  to  tlie  bondage  of  circumstances,  without  any 
hope  of  using  her  capacity  or  gratifying  her  taste." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  he  asked.  "  That  was  the  case 
a  generation  or  two  ago,  but  women  are  pretty  well 
emancipated  now,  and  have  perfect  liberty,  as  far  as 
the  opinion  of  the  world  goes,  to  use  whatever  capacity 
they  may  possess.  It  is  true  they  have  not  yet  become 
war  correspondents,  but  very  likely  they  will,  some  day. 
Meanwhile,  they  are  authors,  artists,  travelers,  scien- 
tists, or  anything  else  that  they  like." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  speaking  of  the  world,"  she  said,  in 
a  tone  of  half-un  con  scions  sadness.  "  That  is  all  true 
— in  the  world.  But  it  is  not  much  good  to  know  that 
others  are  free,  if  one  is  in  prison  one's  self." 

"  All  prisons  have  doors,"  said  Lysle,  looking  at  her 
with  interest. 

She  shook  her  head.  "[tTot  all.  Some,  I  think, 
are  like  those  ancient  dungeons  of  which  one  reads, 
that  have  only  a  well-like  opening  above,  through 
which  the  soul  will  escape  some  day.     But  see,  Mr. 


AMONG   THE  PINES.  15 

I^ygle — if  you  like  the  pines,  here  they  are   in  their 

glory." 

They  had  turned  from  the  road  to  follow  a  path 
leading  through  the  woods,  and  were  indeed  in  the 
midst  of  the  great  trees.  Far  as  the  eye  could  reach, 
vistas  of  pillar-like  trunks  opened  to  the  gaze,  while 
the  dark  crests  above  formed  a  shade  so  dense  that 
hardly  the  noonday  sun  could  j^ierce  it.  The  shadow 
which  reigned  here  was  toned  to  softness  by  the  ab- 
sence of  any  color  save  the  rich  brown  of  the  stems, 
the  paler  bro^Ti  of  the  fallen  needles,  and  the  somber 
green  of  the  mighty  boughs.  It  was  a  region  of  sub- 
dued light,  monotonous  tint,  and  solemn  silence.  There 
seemed  no  reason  why  the  path  that  led  through  these 
dim  forest-aisles  should  ever  end. 

^'  How  familiar  it  all  is  ! "  said  Lysle,  with  a  glance 
that  took  in  every  detail  of  the  picture.  "  And  full 
of  a  charm  which  even  as  a  child  I  dimly  felt — the 
charm  of  infinite  repose,  subtly  mingled  with  melan- 
cholv." 

"  With  melancholy,  yes,"  his  companion  answered. 
*'  Though  these  woods  have  a  fascination  for  me,  I 
confess  that  I  feel  their  melancholy  deeply.  I  can  not 
shake  off  the  influence;  yet  when  I  am  in  lighter, 
happier  regions,  I  miss  and  long  for  it." 

Lysle's  quick,  dark  glance  again  rested  on  her  for 
an  instant. 

'^  I  can  fancy  that,"  he  said  ;  "  the  longing  for  it,  I 
mean,  in  what  you  call  lighter  and  happier  regions. 
Some  scenes,  like  some  people,  are  very  bright,  but 
also  very  shallow.  There  is  no  shallowness  in  the 
pines." 


16  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

She  smiled.  "  No,  indeed.  On  the  contrary,  they 
seem  filled  with  a  knowledge  of  some  mystery  of  life 
or  death  which  they  never  cease  uttering  to  ears  too 
dull  to  interjDret  it.  Listen ! — do  you  not  like  to  hear 
their  murmur?" 

She  stood  still,  lifting  her  face  toward  the  boughs 
overhead,  whence  came  the  mysterious  whisper  which 
the  pines  are  forever  sighing,  even  "  though  all  the 
wings  of  all  the  winds  seem  furled." 

Lysle  paused  and  listened  also  to  the  sound,  pleasant 
to  his  ear  as  the  murmur  of  the  sea,  and  full  of  poetic 
suggestion.  But,  while  he  listened,  he  looked  at  the 
face  that  more  and  more  revealed  its  character  to  him 
— a  character  of  infinite  sensitiveness  and  the  inherent 
melancholy  that  in  some  souls  never  fails  to  vibrate  in 
response  to  the  deep  note  that  runs  through  Nature. 
He  saw  that,  despite  the  firmness  of  the  chin,  the  lips 
were  delicate  and  tremulous  as  the  petals  of  a  flower, 
and  that  the  eyes  had  depths  of  sadness  as  well  as  of 
beauty. 

"  IIow  often  I  have  lain  under  the  trees,  listening 
to  that  voice,  so  full  of  incommunicable  things ! "  he 
observed,  when  they  presently  walked  on.  "  I  am  in- 
clined to  think  that  I  was  rather  a  strange  child  when 
I  remember  all  that  it  said  to  me." 

"  Hugh  declares  that  you  were  a  most  uncommon 
child,"  she  said.  "I  am  sure  that  no  pinnacle  of 
greatness  to  which  you  could  have  climbed  would  have 
surprised  him." 

"  He  must  be  surprised,  then,  that  I  have  climbed 
to  none  at  all,"  answered  Lysle,  with  a  slight  inflection 
of  mockery  in  his  pleasant  voice.     '*  Have  you  any 


AMONG   THE  PIKES.  17 

idea   of   what   it   is   to   feel  yourself   a   failure,  Miss 
Churcliill  ?     I  am  a  failure." 

"Mr.  Lvsle!" 

"Oh,  yes,"  shrugging  his  shoulders  lightly,  "I 
know  what  you  mean.  I  have  done  some  things  that 
the  world  has  noticed  and  praised.  But,  as  it  has 
chanced,  they  were  things  of  which  I  was  ashamed, 
or,  if  not  ashamed,  at  least  thoroughly  indifferent  to ; 
while  the  things  in  which  I  have  put  the  best  that  is  in 
me,  have  fallen  unnoticed.  Hence  I  know  that  I  am 
a  failure.  But,"  he  added  humorously,  "I  tell  you 
this  in  confidence.  Believe  me,  I  do  not  go  about  the 
world  proclaiming  it." 

She  seemed  doubtful  whether  he  was  in  jest  or 
earnest,  as  she  looked  at  him  with  her  deep  eyes, 
divided  between  sympathy  and  incredulity.  Lysle 
smiled — a  whimsical  smile  which  she  was  destined  to 
learn  to  know  very  well. 

"You  do  not  believe  me,"  he  said. 

"I  find  it  hard  to  believe  you,"  she  answered, 
frankly.  "  You  have  always  been  to  me — to  us,  that 
is — an  impersonation  of  success.  We  have  felt  as  if 
we  were  not  cut  off  entirely  from  the  life  of  the 
world,  since  we  knew,  however  remotely,  one  in  the 
midst  of  its  currents  and  its  strifes,  one  whose  name  is 
familiar  to  everybody  who  has  any  knowledge  of  the 
affairs  and  the  literature  of  the  time." 

"You  put  it  most  flatteringly,"  said  Lysle,  sur- 
prised and  touched.  "  But,  believe  me,  I  am  not  de- 
preciating myself  in  order  that  you  may  exalt  me,  when 
I  declare  that  I  have  by  no  means  accomplished  all 
that  you  imagine.     I  have  some  reputation,  it  is  true ; 


IS  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A   STUDY. 

but,  as  1  said  before,  it  is  based  on  the  things  for 
wliicli  I  care  least.  You  are  so  kind  as  to  be  inter- 
ested.    Shall  I  tell  you  a  little  about  myself  ? " 

"  Pray  do,"  she  said,  with  an  eager  glance. 

"  I  will  try  not  to  make  the  story  long.  Shall  I 
commence  with  the  beginning  of  such  reputation  as  I 
possess  ?  1^0 ;  I  think  I  must  go  a  little  behind  that, 
in  order  to  make  you  understand.  Well,  even  as  a 
child  I  possessed  a  great  deal  of  imagination,  and  all 
my  dominant  tastes  were  intellectual,  so  you  may  con- 
ceive what  bent  my  ambition  took  as  I  grew  older.  I 
had  hardly  left  Oxford  when  I  published  a  volume  of 
poems,  which  were  received  with  praise  from  a  few 
critics,  but  fell  dead  as  far  as  the  public  was  con- 
cerned. A  year  or  two  later  I  produced  some  dramatic 
studies,  on  which  I  had  bestowed  infinite  pains  and  all 
the  scholarship  I  possessed,  but  which  shared  the  same 
fate.  About  this  time  I  lost  some  money  by  the 
failure  of  a  company  in  the  stock  of  which  my  father 
had  invested  largely,  and  I  saw  that  it  was  necessary 
to  put  my  Pegasus  in  harness.  A  little  anonymous 
journalistic  work  had  given  me  credit  with  editors ; 
and  when  the  Franco-Prussian  War  broke  out  I  ac- 
cepted an  offer  to  go  abroad  as  war  correspondent. 
The  work  was  not  to  my  taste,  but  I  liked  adventure, 
and  I  went.  I  dashed  off  descriptions  of  what  was 
passing  before  my  eyes  with  reckless  haste  and  utter 
want  of  care — writing  in  camps,  by  bivouac-lires,  in 
wayside  inns,  at  red  heat,  and  sending  off  the  pages 
without  even  a  glance  of  correction.  It  was  work  of 
which  to  be  heartily  ashamed,  but  it  was  the  success  of 
the  day  in  London.     I  can  scarcely  express  to  you  the 


AMONG  THE  FINES.  19 

sense  of  stupefaction  with  wliicli  I  learned  this.  '  So 
picturesque,  so  graphic,  so  powerful ! '  people  said,  who 
had  not  noticed  my  most  careful  labor." 

'^  But  do  Tou  not  see,"  cried  the  girl,  "  that  it  was 
your  fine  qualities,  if  you  will  let  me  say  so,  that  en- 
abled you  to  do  this  work  so  that  it  touched  people  ? 
Your  imagination,  your  dramatic  insight,  your  faculty 
of  seeing  things  as  a  poet  sees — oh,  surely  all  this  was 
needed  by  one  who  would  paint  such  a  terrible  strug- 
gle, with  all  its  warring  forces !  The  minute  touches 
of  pathos  and  interest,  as  well  as  the  great  movements 
of  armies — those  are  the  things  which  commonplace 
eyes  never  see,  but  which  go  straight  to  the  heart, 
when  they  are  vividly  and  truthfully  portrayed." 

Her  words  rushed  out  so  impetuously  that  she  only 
paused  here  with  a  sudden  blush.  "  Pardon  me,"  she 
said,  "  but  that  is  how  it  seems  to  me." 

"And  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Lysle,  ''that  I  have 
never  found  a  listener  who  understood  so  quickly  or 
divined  so  well !  ISTo  doubt  you  are  right — in  part,  at 
least.  I  had  some  qualities  that  gave  a  peculiar  value 
to  my  work ;  but  that  did  not  alter  the  fact  that  it  was 
not  work  to  which  I  should  have  wished  to  owe  any- 
thing. Yet  I  owed  to  it  that  I  stepped  from  obscurity 
into  fame,  and  could  thereafter  dictate  terms  to  editors 
and  publishers.  The  war-sketches  were  subjected  to  a 
little  correction,  issued  in  book-form,  and  sold  im- 
mensely. After  that  I  went  to  the  East — to  India,  to 
Afghanistan,  to  Upper  Egypt — and,  since  I  have  written 
less  superficially  than  most  travelers  and  correspondents 
on  the  countries  I  have  visited  and  the  campaigns  I  have 
witnessed,  my  works  have  succeeded  amazingly,  and  I 


20  MISS  CnURCEILL:    A   STUDY. 

have  become  rather  an  authority  on  Oriental  affairs. 
Now,  Miss  Churchill,  that  is  an  epitome  of  what  the 
world  calls  mv  success,  and  what  I  consider  mj  failure. 
In  which  light  does  it  strike  you  f  " 

As  she  turned  her  face  again  toward  him,  he  could 
see  that  she  was  much  moved.  The  lightness  of  tone 
with  which  he  had  finished  found  no  reflection  in  any 
lightness  of  mood  in  her — indeed,  as  he  learned  after- 
ward, lightness  of  mood  was  not  common  with  Cecil 
Churchill. 

"  It  does  not  strike  me,"  she  said,  "  as  either  com- 
plete success  or  com^^lete  failure.  Of  course,  I  under- 
stand that  you  have  won  your  reputation  by  what  yon 
feel  to  be  your  lower  powers,  when  yon  would  have 
wished  to  win  it  by  your  higher.  But  I  am  sure  that 
yon  could  not  have  won  it  without  the  aid  of  the  higher. 
And  you  have  this  consolation,  that  now  the  world  will 
listen  to  whatever  yon  wish  to  say." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  have  anything  now  that  I 
wish  to  say  to  it,"  he  answered.  "  One's  life  ends  by 
imposing  itself  npon  one,  and  a  failure  which  looks  like 
a  success  is,  after  all,  not  very  nncommon.  But  really 
it  is  uncommon  for  me  to  indulge  in  so  mnch  egotism  !  " 
he  added,  snddenly.  "  I  hardly  know  how  I  have  been 
beguiled  into  it." 

"  By  my  interest,  I  think,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  You 
know — or  you  don't  know,  but  perhaps  you  may  imag- 
ine— what  a  wonderful  thing  it  is  in  my  life  to  come 
into  contact  with  a  man  who  has  done  and  seen  all  that 
yon  have — a  man  of  letters  and  of  the  world.  You  will 
not  misunderstand  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have 
wondered,  ever  since  we  knew  you  were  coming,  what 


AMONG   THE  FIJSTFS.  21 

you  would  be  like,  and  what  I  could  liope  to  learn  from 
you.  I  did  not  venture  to  think  of  your  talking  to  me 
in  this  manner — talking  of  the  things  I  long  most  to 
know — at  once." 

She  spoke  with  so  much  simplicity,  with  so  little 
thought  of  herself  or  any  impression  she  might  make, 
that  Lysle  felt  his  interest  more  and  more  stirred. 

"  You  do  not  know  yourself,  then,"  he  said,  "  or  you 
would  not  be  surprised  at  any  confidence  which  might 
be  bestowed  upon  you.  Your  sympathy  makes  every- 
thing possible." 

'*  But  I  am  not  of  a  sympathetic  nature,"  she  an- 


swered. 


"  Are  you  not  ?  I  think  I  must  be  appointed  to  re- 
veal you  to  yourself." 

*'  Ko,"  she  said ;  "  it  is  you  who  mistake,  and  I 
should  be  sorry  for  you  to  begin  with  too  good  an  opin- 
ion of  me.  I  am  not  sympathetic,  in  a  general  sense. 
It  is  only  some  things  that  rouse  my  interest — things, 
unfortunately,  that  lie  remote  from  my  life." 

"  I  feel,  then,  that  I  have  been  pecuKarly  fortunate 
in  rousing  it  this  afternoon  ;  and  if  I  may  ask  a  favor 
of  you — " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  as  he  paused. 

"  It  is,  that  you  will  command  whatever  knowledge 
I  possess.  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world,  and 
no  doubt  there  are  many  things  in  my  experience  that 
would  interest  you.  Look  upon  me  as  a  book,  open  the 
pages  where  you  will,  and  be  sure  that  I  shall  endeavor 
to  make  the  record  as  entertaining  as  possible." 

"  May  I  indeed  do  that  ? "  she  said,  with  an  eager 
regard.     "  You  can  not  tell  how  glad  I  shall  be  !    I  only 


22  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

fear  that  I  shall  bore  you  terribly  if  I  ask  all  that  I 
want  to  know." 

"  That  is  impossible,"  he  answered,  with  evident 
sincerity,  "  for  do  you  know  I  have  a  presentiment  that 
Vv'e  shall  be  very  good  friends  ? " 

"I  hope  so,"  she  replied.  "Indeed,  if  I  were  not 
afraid  of  speaking  too  precipitately,  I  should  say  that  I 
am  sure  of  it.  But  here  we  are  at  home.  This  is  my 
brother's  house  before  us." 

Lysle  looked  up  as  they  emerged  from  the  pines, 
and  saw  on  the  other  side  of  the  sandy  road — which,  like 
a  stream,  had  made  a  bend  around  them  while  they  fol- 
lowed a  straight  line  from  point  to  point — a  low,  wide- 
porticoed  house,  which,  without  architectural  preten- 
sions, pleased  the  eye  by  its  perfect  adaptation  to  the 
climate  and  the  life  which  it  enshrined.  Its  doors  stood 
hospitably  open  to  the  soft  air,  flowers  surrounded  it, 
vines  clambered  over  it,  and  numerouG  chairs  scattered 
about  the  piazzas  indicated  how  much  of  the  family  life 
went  on  there.  As  the  two  figures,  leaving  the  shadow 
of  the  forest,  crossed  the  road  to  the  gate,  set  in  the 
midst  of  a  luxuriant  mock-orange  hedge,  Churchill,  who 
was  reading  on  the  piazza,  came  forward,  newspaper  in 
hand,  to  welcome  his  friend  again. 


CHAPTER  III. 

When  Ljsle,  acting  on  a  sudden  impulse,  Lad  begged 
to  accompany  Miss  Churchill  on  her  homeward  walk, 
he  felt,  if  he  had  not  distinctly  said  to  himself,  "Here 
is  some  one  whom  I  wish  to  know,  and  who  will  in- 
terest me."  But  he  had  not  expected  that  the  inter- 
est would  develop  so  quickly,  or  that  the  conversation 
would  fall  immediately  into  such  a  personal  channel. 

After  he  had  been  conducted  to  his  chamber  and 
left  alone,  he  found  himself  recalling,  with  a  sense  of 
surprise,  his  own  expansiveness.  He  was  not  prone  to 
talk  of  himself — much  experience  had  eradicated  the 
impulse,  if  it  had  ever  existed  with  him — and  far  less 
was  he  disposed  to  take  others  into  his  confidence  with 
regard  to  the  sense  of  failure  that  rendered  his  apparent 
success  worthless  in  his  own  eyes.  Yet  he  had  laid 
bare  this  inmost  secret  of  his  life  to  a  girl  who  was  an 
absolute  stranger  to  him,  and  that  on  an  acquaintance  of 
half  an  hour.  If  it  had  been  the  other  way — if  he  had 
drawn  forth  her  confidence — the  matter  would  not  have 
been  so  surprising ;  but  for  him,  a  man  of  the  world 
trained  in  reticence  and  self-suppression,  to  be  led  to 
talk  of  himself  like  a  schoolboy — this  was  too  astonish- 
ing not  to  need  an  explanation. 

And  the  explanation  was  soon  forthcoming.      He 


2i  MISS   CnURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

liad  only  to  recall  the  pale,  beautiful  face,  the  deep 
eyes  with  their  lurking  sadness,  and  the  sensitive,  deli- 
cate lips,  to  understand  that  his  impulse  of  confidence 
had  simply  been  the  first  step  toward  winning  hers. 
lie  had  wished  to  interest  her  as  a  means  of  studying 
her,  so  he  had  seized  the  first  subject  that  was  avail- 
able, the  first  that  would  serve  his  purpose — which 
chanced  to  be  that  of  himself.  And  it  had  served  his 
purpose  well.  He  recalled  the  look,  the  tone,  with 
which  she  had  said,  "  Do  you  not  see  that  it  was  your 
fine  qualities  that  enabled  you  to  do  this  work  so  that 
it  touched  people  ? "  He  had  known  it  himself,  but  he 
could  not  have  imagined  that  she  would  grasp  the  truth 
so  quickly,  guided  only  by  his  slight  and  imperfect  ex- 
planation. "•  There  is  something  in  her  that  answers  to 
it,"  he  thous-ht.  "But  what  is  there  besides?"  He 
smiled  a  little.  It  would  not  be  his  fault  if  he  did  not 
learn  what  there  was  besides.  He  felt  this  with  a  sense 
of  pleasure  such  as  only  the  man  who  has  a  desire  for 
fresh  intellectual  interest  knows. 

He  found  that  no  fresh  intellectual  interest  awaited 
him,  however,  when  he  went  down-stairs  and  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Churchill — a  pretty,  delicate,  dark- 
eyed  woman,  who  received  him  with  much  kindness. 
Her  gentle  voice  and  caressing  manners  revived  memo- 
ries of  many  such  women  ^hom  he  had  seen  in  his 
youth  at  Governor  Churchill's  and  elsewhere.  Singu- 
larly enough,  these  memories  had  not  been  stirred  by 
anything  about  Cecil.  With  her,  individuality  was  so 
strong  that  she  seemed  a  creature  sui  generis^  belonging 
to  no  class  or  order ;  but  Mrs.  Churchill  was  the  em- 
bodiment of  traditions,  of  gentle  influences  and  fine  so- 


AMONa    THE  FIXES.  25 

cial  culhire,  whicli  made  her  the  type  of  a  sufficieDtlj 
numerous  class.  She  pleased  Lysle  in  herself  as  well 
as  for  the  sake  of  those  past  shadowy  days,  which  yet 
seemed  very  real  while  he  sat  listening  to  the  flow  of 
her  voice,  with  its  soft  Southern  accent,  telling  w^hat 
had  become  of  all  the  old  friends  whose  names  he  could 
recall.  "  Poor  Miles  was  killed,  and  Ealph — you  re- 
member his  brother  Ralph  ? — is  hard  at  work  like  the 
rest  of  us,  trying  to  make  both  ends  meet,"  she  was 
saying,  when  Churchill  came  up  and  sat  down  beside 
them. 

"Barnard  looks  quite  melancholy  under  the  influ- 
ence of  your  reminiscences,  JS^ettie,"  he  said.  "  Sup- 
pose we  try  to  And  some  more  cheerful  subject." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  she  answered.  "  What  shall 
it  be?" 

"  Well,  we  can  make  him  talk  of  himself." 

"  Ah,  pardon,"  cried  Lysle,  with  a  laugh,  "  but  that 
is  not  a  cheerful  subject  at  all." 

"  I  am  sure  it  ought  to  be,  then,"  said  Churchill, 
lighting  a  cigar — for  they  were  on  the  veranda  after 
tea ;  "  a  man  who  has  succeeded  and  made  a  name  in 
the  world  as  you  have,  ought  to  find  the  subject  of  him- 
self very  cheerful  indeed." 

Lysle,  who  was  conscious  that  Miss  Churchill  was 
wichin  hearing,  glanced  at  her,  but  she  did  not  meet 
his  eyes.  She  was  sitting  near  one  of  the  arches  of  the 
veranda,  which  framed  her  like  a  picture,  with  her 
figure  in  relief  against  a  luminous  sky.  On  this  side 
the  house  overlooked  a  slight  valley  that  gave  a  wider 
opening  and  horizon  toward  the  west.  One  of  the  beau- 
tiful sunsets  of  the  pine-lands  was  glowing  on  the  sky. 


2G  MISS  CnURCniLL:    A  STUDY. 

and  CeciFs  cjes  were  fastened  on  it,  so  that,  if  she  heard 
her  brother's  remark,  she  made  no  sign. 

"  I  can  not  imagine  a  man,  who  is  not  an  incurable 
egotist,  linding  the  subject  of  himself  very  interesting," 
said  Lysle,  after  a  pause.  "  But  I  shall  be  happj  to 
tell  jou  about  some  of  my  adventures  with  other  people, 
if  you  care  to  hear  them." 

"  Of  course  we  care,"  said  Churchill.  ''  Do  vou 
suppose  we  are  devoid  of  the  spirit  of  adventure  be- 
cause we  are  forced  to  live  in  a  rut  ?  Tell  ns  some- 
thing about  that  campaign  in  Afghanistan  a  year  or  so 
ago." 

So  Lysle  began,  describing  not  only  the  incidents  of 
the  campaign  that  with  its  clash  of  arms  had  seemed  so 
remote  to  the  civilized  world,  but  also  the  country  which 
made  the  scene  of  it — that  vast  plateau  of  Central  Asia, 
with  its  history  stretching  back  into  remote  antiquity, 
those  towering  mountains  which  divide  the  rich  plains 
of  India  from  the  table-lands  and  snowy  heights  of 
Afghanistan,  the  fierce,  unconquerable  tribes  that  dwell 
in  those  fastnesses,  the  wild  grandeur  of  the  great  Khyber 
Pass,  through  which  from  earliest  ages  the  tide  of  con- 
quest and  plunder  has  rolled.  He  was  conscious  that 
he  had  never  talked  better — not  even  to  a  London  audi- 
ence— than  to  this  little  group  who  sat  rapt  in  silence 
under  his  words.  The  sunset  glow  faded,  the  yellow 
moon  came  up  over  the  pines  in  the  east  and  changed 
from  gold  to  silver  in  the  purple  sky,  and  still  he  spoke, 
led  on  by  questions  from  his  listeners  whenever  he  ceased. 
It  was  as  Cecil  had  said  :  the  poet  in  him  came  out  in  all 
that  he  uttered,  the  past  history  and  traditions  of  man, 
the  wonderful  aspects  of  IN'ature,  the  picturesque  sng- 


AMOXG   TEE  PINES.  27 

gesticns  of  characters,  customs,  and  uianTiers  different 
from  anything  which  modern  nations  produce — for  how 
modern  is  Europe,  with  her  civ^ilization  of  a  thousand 
years,  beside  the  ancient  East ! — all  were  present  with 
him  as  he  talked,  coloring  his  words  and  conveying  to  his 
hearers  a  vivid  realization  of  that  which  he  described. 

One  of  them,  at  least,  almost  held  her  breath  while 
she  listened.  She  seemed  to  see  around  her  not  the 
familiar  girdling  pines  of  the  JSTew  World,  but  those 
stupendous  heights  of  hoary  Asia,  those  vast  table-lands 
from  which,  in  the  dimness  of  prehistoric  time,  the 
tribes  that  were  to  form  nations  and  peoples  began 
their  westward  march.  The  great  movement  seemed 
to  unroll  before  her  like  an  antique  frieze,  mingled  with 
later  pictures — of  the  hosts  of  Alexander,  of  the  hordes 
of  Timour,  and  finally  of  the  conflict,  deferred  yet  cer- 
tain to  come,  when  in  this  region,  fit  for  a  strife  of 
giants,  the  power  of  England  would  meet  face  to  face 
the  might  of  the  AYhite  Czar. 

The  striking  of  a  clock  within  the  house  at  length 
startled  them  all.  Mrs.  Churchill  uttered  a  slight  ex- 
clamation. "  Can  that  be  ten  o'clock  ? "  she  cried.  "  O 
Mr.  Lysle,  how  delightfully  you  have  entertained  us ; 
but  how  we  have  imposed  upon  you !  To  make  you 
talk  for  hours — that  is  inexcusable  !  " 

"  It  is  inexcusable  in  me,"  answered  Lysle.  "  I  fear 
I  have  bored  you  very  much.  You  must  take  care  an- 
other time  how  you  set  me  off." 

"  We  shall  certainly  take  care  to  set  you  off,"  said 
Churchill.  "  I  can't  tell  when  I  have  been  so  much  in- 
terested !  And  what  vague  ideas  I  had  before  of  the 
country,  and  the  fighting,  and  what  it  was  all  about ! 


28  MISS  CUUECEILL:    A  STUDY. 

My  dear  fellow,  I  don't  wonder  that  you  Lave  succeed- 
ed, if  you  write  as  you  talk." 

"  Just  what  I  was  thinking,"  said  Mrs.  Churchill. 

But  Cecil  said  nothing ;  and  looking  at  her  face  as 
the  moonlight  fell  on  it,  showing  its  outlines  and  the 
eyes  that  under  their  level  brows  seemed  gazing  into 
some  immeasurable  distance,  rather  than  at  the  silvery 
mist  which  filled  the  valley,  Lysle  felt  a  strong  incli- 
nation to  hear  what  she  thought.  He  rose,  and,  with 
some  comment  on  the  beauty  of  the  night,  walked  to 
the  G^digQ  of  the  piazza,  pausing  near  her  chair.  As  he 
stood  silent,  she  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  him. 

''  I  wish,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  ^'  that  I  could  tell 
you  what  pictui'es  you  have  brought  before  me." 

"  And  can  you  not  ? " 

"  Oh,  no.  Even  if  it  were  worth  while,  I  do  not 
think  I  could.  But  it  would  be  very  absurd  to  describe 
to  you,  who  have  seen  the  real  things,  the  pictures  in 
my  mind." 

"  The  pictures  in  your  mind  might  be  better  worth 
seeing  than  the  real  things,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  Imagi- 
nation is  a  great  painter." 

"  But  imagination  must  have  material  with  which 
to  paint,  and  you  gave  me  the  materials."  She  paused, 
then  added,  quickly :  "  I  see  now  that  I  was  right  in 
w^hat  I  said  to  you  this  afternoon.  It  is  the  qualities 
you  bring  to  bear  on  your  work  that  make  it  what 
it  is." 

'^  So  much  can  be  said  of  all  work — that  it  is  what 
the  qualities  brought  to  bear  upon  it  make  it." 

"  Yes.  But  it  is  not  often,  I  am  sure,  that  qualities 
such  as  yours  are  brought  to  bear  on  such  work.     Do 


AMOXG  TEE  FIXES.  29 

not  most-  people  describe  only  what  they  see  ?  But  you 
make  one  feel  so  mucli  besides — it  is  like  the  forty  cent- 
uries looking  down  from  the  Pyramids.  One  realizes 
all  the  past  as  well  as  the  present ;  one  feels  the  conti- 
nuity of  human  action,  and  that  the  events  of  to-day 
are  only  one  page  of  a  great  drama  which  had  its  be- 
ginning in  remotest  time." 

She  looked  away  from  him  again  before  she  iinished 
speaking — over  the  silver-flooded  valley  to  the  dark 
crests  of  the  pines  crowning  the  opposite  ridge — and 
Lysle,  whose  perceptions  were  quick,  felt  that  the  spell 
of  the  images  he  had  evoked  was  stronger  than  that  of 
his  presence.  This  consciousness,  which  might  have 
piqued  another  man,  only  interested  him. 

"  I  am  very  fortunate  if  I  make  you  feel  those 
things,"  he  said  ;  *'  but  I  think  you  give  me  too  much 
credit — for  you  supply,  on  your  side,  an  imagination 
and  a  discernment  that  few  people  possess." 

*'  Oh,  I  am  not  making  myself  a  standard,"  she  an- 
swered, simply.  "  I  know  that  I  am  not  exactly  like 
other  people.  I  found  that  out  when  I  was  a  child. 
One  discovers  such  things  early." 

"  Tes — generally  by  the  price  of  isolation  that  one 
must  pay,"  £aid  Lysle,  who  had  some  experiences  of  the 
kind  himself. 

"I  never  cared  for  that,"  she  said.  "It  was  the 
least  of  two  evils.  Isolation  was  better  than  uncon- 
genial companionship." 

"  You  are  not  of  a  social  nature,  then  ?" 

"  If  you  mean  by  that,  one  who  likes  indiscriminate 
society — not  at  all.  It  wearies  me  ;  and  I  have  no  art 
to  hide  my  weariness.     But  I  think  I  should  like  some 


30  ^I'SS  CnURCIIILL:    A  STUDY. 

kinds  of  society — such  Bocietj  as  (I  have  fancied)  might 
be  found  in  the  great  world." 

"Yes,"  said  Lysle,  thoughtfully,  "I  am  sure  you 
would  hke  that.     It  is  a  pity — " 

He  paused — suddenly  conscious  that  he  did  not  yet 
know  her  well  enough  to  utter  the  words  on  his  lips ; 
but  she  looked  at  him  with  comprehension  in  her  eyes. 

"  A  pity,"  she  said,  "  that  the  prison  has  no  open- 
ing? It  may  be,  and  yet — one  can  at  least  say,  like 
Dante,  that 

'  Even  through  the  body's  prison-bars 
One's  soul  possessed  the  sun  and  stars.'  " 

"  Unfortunately,  they  are  very  remote,  and  do  not 
always  satisfy  one,"  said  Lysle.  "  They  did  not  satisfy 
Dante.  "Where  in  all  the  world  is  there  another  face 
filled  with  such  deep  melancholy  as  his  ? " 

"  That  seems  to  me  the  saddest  thing  about  great 
genius,"  she  said.  "  It  is  always  so  melancholy.  Those 
who  possess  it  are  not  only  oppressed  by  the  insight 
which  enables  them  to  see  deeper  into  life  than  others, 
but  their  own  lives  are  always  so  profoundly  unhappy. 
There  is  hardly  an  exception  to  the  rule." 

"Except  Goethe." 

"I  suppose  Goethe  was  an  exception — perhaps  for 
that  reason  I  have  never  found  him  very  interesting." 

"  He  was  a  Greek  pagan  in  soul — a  true  child  of 
the  Kenaissance,"  said  Lysle.  "That  accounts  for 
much.  And  then  he  had  the  good  sense  to  live  a  long 
time.  Most  great  geniuses  die  before  the  world  knows 
them." 

"I   hope   you   do   not   mean  to  emulate  their  ex- 


AMONG    THE  PINES.  31 

ample,  Mr.  Lysle,"  said  Mrs.  Churchill,  who  had  ap- 
proached in  time  to  hear  the  last  words.  "  You  must 
not  die  before  the  world  knows  jou  even  better  than  it 
knows  you  now." 

'*  That  might  readily  be  without  my  achieving  any 
very  great  fame,"  said  Lysle,  laughing ;  "  but  1  have 
not  the  least  intention  of  dying,  I  assure  you.  I  find 
the  world,  with  all  its  drawbacks,  rather  an  amusing 
place." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  find  tliis  an  amusing 
place,"  said  she,  with  a  sigh.  "  It  is  really  very  dull. 
I  have  my  house  and  my  children  to  occupy  me,  and 
Hugh  has  his  business ;  but  I  am  often  sorry  for  Ce- 
cil—" 

"  And  I  often  tell  you  that  there  is  no  reason  w^hy 
you  should  be,"  interposed  the  latter. 

"  There  is  reason  why  I  should  be,"  replied  Mrs. 
Churchill,  "though  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 
"\Yhat  I  was  going  to  say  is,  that  I  fear  Mr.  Lysle  will 
be  bored  to  death." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Churchill,"  said  Lysle,  with  great 
impressiveness,  "I  beg  you  to  dismiss  such  an  idea 
from  yonr  mind.  Mere  dullness — if  by  that  you  mean 
the  absence  of  excitement,  social  or  otherwise — never 
bores  me.  In  fact,  I  like  it.  So  much  of  my  life  has 
been  passed  at  high-pressure,  that  I  welcome  any  period 
of  repose  that  offers  itself.  And  I  hoped  that  such  a 
period  was  before  me  when  I  came  here." 

"Then  you  were  quite  right,"  said  she.  "Eepose 
we  can  offer  in  unlimited  quantity,  but  nothing  else. 
We  have  no  society,  no  amusements — " 

"  Why  do  you  tell  him  such  things  %  "  asked  Church- 


32  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A   STUDY. 

il],  also  drawing  near.  "Do  you  suppose  tliat  if  he 
had  been  in  search  of  society  and  amusements  he  would 
have  come  here  ?  He  has  come  to  see  us,  and  to  tahe  a 
rest  in  the  pine-lands — eh,  Bernard  ?  A  fellow  who 
lives  as  you  do,  must  need  complete  rest  now  and  then, 
I  should  think." 

"You  think  correctly,"  answered  Lysle,  "and  you 
define  my  motives  in  coming  exactly — to  see  you,  and 
to  rest  in  the  pine-lands.      Yoild  tout  !  " 

"  I  hope,  then,  we  may  be  able  to  keep  you  a  long 
time,"  said  Mrs.  Churchill,  with  friendly  cordiality. 
"  If  we  have  little  or  nothing  to  offer  you,  you  have  a 
great  deal  to  offer  us,  so  the  hope  is  a  little  selfish,  per- 
haps, but  very  sincere.  And  now  I  must  bid  you  good- 
night, for,  not  being  strong,  I  am  obliged  to  retire  early. 
Don't  let  Hugh  keep  you  up  too  late,  or  tell  adventures 
that  should  be  kept  for  the  public  ear. — Cecil,  shall  I 
bid  you  good-night  also  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  Miss  Churchill,  "'I  will  go  with 
you."  She  rose,  and  turning  toward  Lysle  looked  at 
him  with  a  smile.  "  I  hope,"  she  said,  "  that  our  pines 
may  bestow  on  you  their  gift  of  pleasant  slumber.  For 
myself,  I  know  I  shall  dream  of  all  the  wild  and  won- 
derful scenes  into  which  you  have  taken  us.  So,  good- 
nicfht." 

<r3 


CHAPTER    lY. 

Ltsle  found  it  a  very  good  night  indeed.  Whether 
it  was  owing  to  the  weariness  caused  by  his  journey, 
or  to  the  aromatic  breath  of  the  pines  with  which  the 
pure,  miJd  air  was  laden,  he  fell  into  a  dreamless  slum- 
ber, from  which  he  wakened  to  find  the  world  flooded 
with  golden  sunshine,  and  a  bell  ringing  somewhere  be- 
low-stairs. 

While  he  was  debating,  according  to  the  manner  of 
one  only  half  awake,  what  this  was  most  likely  intended 
as  a  summons  for,  a  knock  at  his  door  was  followed  by 
the  entrance  of  a  servant — a  slim,  chocolate-colored 
youth — bringing  fresh  water,  who  informed  him  that  it 
was  "  the  risin'-bell." 

This  being  the  case,  the  proper  thing  to  do  was  of 
course  to  rise,  and,  when  once  he  had  faced  the  beauty 
of  the  day,  Lysle  felt  that  slumber  was  no  longer  pos- 
sible. He  had  come  immediately  from  regions  where 
October  was  decked  with  a  robe  of  gorgeous  color  and 
the  clear  air  was  sharp  with  the  touch  of  frost ;  but  here 
there  seemed  no  such  thing  possible  as  sharpness.  All 
was  mellowed  to  the  softness  of  a  dream,  yet  full  of 
radiance.  The  air,  in  addition  to  the  lightness  and 
buoyancy  which  distinguished  it  at  all  times,  had  a 
caressing  warmth,  as  if  it  held  the  sunshine  dissolved  in 


34:  MISS   CHURCHILL:    A   STUDY,. 

it.  The  pines,  although  thej  wore  no  color  but  their 
own  dark  green,  were  jet  changed  in  aspect  by  the 
magical  atmosphere  which  threw  a  veil  of  enchantment 
over  everything.  They  were  not  the  same  trees  that 
stood  in  gloomy  majesty  under  a  lowering  heaven,  or 
asserted  themselves  w^ith  such  shai^p  distinctness  against 
a  clear,  pale  horizon.  The  radiant  sky,  the  flooding 
sunshine,  and  the  faint  delicate  haze  that  softened  with- 
out obscuring  the  splendor  of  the  day,  contained  a 
spell  that  seemed  to  wraj)  them  in  repose  and  golden 
dreams. 

But  when  Lysle  descended,  in  obedience  to  the 
summons  of  another  bell,  he  found  color  enough  s])read 
before  his  eyes.  The  windows  of  the  dining-room  com- 
manded a  view  of  garden-beds  where  flowers  ran  riot  in 
profusion  and  variety,  and  around  the  house  were  set 
shrubs  and  young  trees  that  wore  autunm's  glowing 
tints.  Seen  now  in  the  clear  light  of  day,  he  perceived 
more  distinctly  the  mingled  simplicity  and  elegance  of 
all  the  appointments  of  the  house.  Money  to  spare 
for  mere  adornment  there  had  evidently  been  none ; 
but  the  taste  which  selected  necessary  things  had  never 
been  at  fault ;  while  untiring  care  plainly  presided  over 
all  the  household  machinery.  Indeed,  as  he  came  to 
know  later,  Mrs.  Churchill  possessed  in  her  small  body 
a  spirit  of  infinite  energy  and  ambition.  *'I  have  seen 
households,"  she  sometimes  said,  "  where,  when  poverty 
came,  carelessness,  disorder,  and  slatternly  habits  fol- 
lowed ;  children  grew  up  without  training  in  gentle 
ways  or  without  memories  of  refinement.  That  shall 
never  be  in  my  house.  "We  must  live  simply,  but  my 
children  shall  always   remember  that  we  lived   with 


AMOXG   TEE  FIXES.  35 

order  and  propriety,  and  such  grace  as  I  can  command. 
If  we  had  but  a  crust  of  bread,  I  should  insist  upon 
serving  it  properly." 

AVith  this  ideal  animating  the  person  from  whom 
the  household  takes  its  tone,  it  was  not  surprising  that 
Ljsle's  eyes  were  pleased  by  the  pretty  picture  which 
the  breakfast-room  presented  as  he  entered.  Sunshine 
was  streaming  on  the  dark,  polished  floor  with  its 
square  red  rug  in  the  center,  on  the  brass  mountings  of 
the  old-fashioned  sideboard,  and  on  the  breakfast-table, 
where,  in  the  midst  of  shining  damask,  of  china  and 
silver,  was  placed  a  large  bowl  filled  with  freshly  gath- 
ered roses,  as  if  the  wealth  of  bloom  and  fragrance 
without  had  overflowed  within.  Cordial  salutations 
greeted  him  as  he  appeared ;  and  after  he  had  replied, 
and  assured  Mrs.  Churchill  that  he  had  slept  exceed- 
ingly well,  he  looked  across  the  table,  and  said,  "  What 
a  beautiful  day  it  is  !  "  to  Miss  Churchill,  who  was 
seated  opposite  him. 

"  Is  it  not  ? "  she  answered.  ''  We  are  so  accus- 
tomed to  beautiful  days,  especially  at  this  season,  that 
I  fear  we  almost  cease  to  appreciate  them  prop- 
erly." 

"Why  do  you  think  so  ?"  asked  her  brother.  "  Be- 
cause we  don't  spend  our  time  in  admiring  them  ? 
That  is  not  necessary,  surely,  as  a  proof  of  appreciation. 
But  it  is  fine  weather,  and  I  hope  yon  will  enjoy  it, 
Bernard.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself 
to-day?  Should  you  like  to  ride  with  me  over  to  my 
plantation  ?  I  must  go,  and  I  can  give  you  a  pretty 
good  mount." 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  avail  myself  of  that 


36  MISS  CnURGUILL:    A  STUDY. 

pleasure  another  day,"  replied  Ljsle.  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  that  this  is  a  day  specially  designed  for  dolce 
far  niente.  One  should  not  do  anything ;  one  should 
simply  enjoy  it.  I  see  you  have  a  hammock  under 
the  trees :  I  think  I  shall  lie  in  that,  and  look  at  the 
pines." 

**  Very  well,"  said  Churchill,  with  a  laugh.  "  Just 
as  you  like.  It  would  not  be  my  idea  of  a  lively 
amusement ;  but  every  one  to  his  taste.  If  you  grow 
tired  of  the  pines,  ISTettie  will  do  her  best  to  entertain 
vou,  I  am  sure." 

*' And  I  am  sure,  in  that  case,  of  being  well  enter- 
tained," said  Lysle,  with  a  bow  toward  his  hostess. 
But,  even  as  he  uttered  the  little  speech,  he  was  saying 
to  himself.  Why  Nettie  \  Why  had  Hugh  not  men- 
tioned his  sister  ?  He  looked  across  at  that  young  lady, 
who  no  doubt  read  the  question  in  his  eyes,  for  she  said, 
quietly : 

"Since  Hugh  offers  you  a  horse,  and  IS'ettie  is  to 
entertain  you,  Mr.  Lysle,  I  am  sorry  that  I  can  only 
offer  the  advice  not  to  trust  yourself  too  unreservedly 
to  that  hammock,  w^hich  is  somewhat  weakened  by 
age." 

"  You  are  very  kind  ;  I  shall  bear  the  warning  in 
mind,"  said  Lysle.  "And  you — may  I  ask  how  you 
intend  to  spend  the  day?" 

"  Yery  much  as  usual.  I  am  always  occupied  in  the 
morning.     I  teach  school." 

"  She  insists  upon  teaching  these  children,"  said 
Mi-s.  Churchill,  quickly.  "  It  is  awfully  good  of  her, 
as  Hugh  and  I  both  feel.  And  since  she  teaches  them, 
she  has  also  consented  to  take  two  or  three  others — 


AMO^^G   THE  PINES.  37 

children  of  our  neighbors  and  friends — as  a  matter  of 
accommodation." 

Miss  Clim'cliill  smiled  at  the  last  words,  but  she 
made  no  comment  on  them,  and,  as  she  proceeded  with 
her  breakfast,  Lysle  cast  more  than  one  glance  at  her 
face,  thinking  that  all  his  conclusions  of  the  day  before 
were  strengthened  by  time  and  the  searching  morning 
light,  which  found  no  flaw  in  the  clear,  pale  skin,  the 
beautiful  eyes  and  sensitive  lips. 

Breakfast  over,  Cecil  disappeared,  while  Lysle 
walked  out  on  the  piazza  with  Churchill,  whose  horse 
was  already  saddled  and  waiting  for  him.  "  I  am  sorry 
that  I  must  go,"  said  the  latter ;  "  but  eternal  vigilance 
is  the  price  of  other  things  besides  liberty.  A  man 
whose  income  depends  on  his  crops  can  not  indulge 
in  clolce  far  niente,  else  I'd  like  nothing  better  than 
to  spend  the  morning  with  you,  talkiiig  of  old 
times." 

"  We  shall  have  other  opportunities  for  that,"  said 
Lysle ;  "  I  warn  you  that  you  may  have  me  on  your 
hands  for  some  time." 

"The  longer  the  better,"  answered  Hugh,  with  a 
sincerity  which  could  not  be  doubted.  "  Make  your- 
self thoroughly  at  home  ;  do  just  what  you  like,  and 
don't  let  anybody — not  even  ITettie — make  you  do 
anything  you  don't  like." 

"  JS^obody  ever  does,"  responded  Lysle,  truthfully. 

They  walked  down  to  the  gate  together,  where 
Churchill  mounted  and  rode  away,  while  the  other 
strolled  with  his  cigar  into  the  woods.  He  was  gone 
for  an  hour  or  two,  and  Mrs.  Churchill,  who  had  mean- 
while estabhshed  herself    with  her  work  in  a    shady 


38  MISS  CnURCniLL:    A   STUDY, 

nook  of  the  veranda,  began  to  wonder  what  had  be- 
come of  liim,  when  he  reappeared  as  deliberately  as 
he  had  disappeared,  crossed  the  road,  let  himself  in  the 
gate,  and  walked  quietly  toward  her. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  yoii,"  she  said,  as  he  mounted 
the  steps  and  sat  down  in  an  inviting  chair  under  the 
shade  of  the  vines.  "  I  began  to  feel  afraid  that  you 
might  be  lost.  The  numerous  paths  and  neighborhood 
roads  through  the  pines  are  very  bewildering  to  one 
who  is  not  familiar  with  them,  for  they  are  all  exactly 
ahke." 

*'  I  know  that,"  he  answered,  "  and  therefore  I 
should  not  think  of  trusting  to  them.  I  always  take 
my  bearings  in  a  strange  place  with  this" — he  indi- 
cated a  small  compass  hanging  to  his  watch-chain — 
"  and  then  I  am  in  no  danger  of  being  lost.  Besides, 
much  travel  in  wild  lands  has  made  me  observant  of 
many  natural  signs  which  escape  most  people." 

"  I  should  like  so  much  to  ask  you  to  tell  me  some- 
thing about  those  wild  lands,"  she  said ;  "  only  I  feel 
as  if  it  would  be  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  poor 
Cecil." 

^'  How  long  is  Miss  Churchill  occupied  with  her 
school  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Until  two  o'clock.  I  think,  myself,  that  it  is  use- 
less to  give  so  much  time ;  but  Cecil  is  very  thorough 
in  all  that  she  undertakes." 

"  And  she  teaches  others  besides  your  children  ?  " 

"  Yes,  four  others — two  little  Ryders  and  two  little 
Lawfords.  Hugh  dislikes  it  exceedingly  ;  but  Cecil  is 
very  obstinate.  She  will  not  consent  to  stay  with  us 
unless  we  allow  her  to  teach  the  children ;  and  as  she 


AMOXG   THE  FIXES.  39 

teaclies  our  children,  she  might  as  well  teach  others — 
at  least  she  thinks  so." 

"  She  impresses  me  as  a  person  of  very  decided 
character,"  observed  Lysle. 

Mrs.  Churchill  made  a  gesture  which  seemed  to  sig- 
nify that  the  decision  of  her  sister-in-law's  character 
was  beyond  bounds.  "  She  has  always  had  her  own 
way,"  she  said,  as  if  in  explanation,  "and  she  is — I 
regret  to  say  it,  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  it — she  is 
decidedly  peculiar." 

"  Peculiarity  is  sometimes  interesting,"  said  Lysle. 
"  Almost  anything  is  better  than  being  commonplace." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  asked  the  lady,  rather  skep- 
tically. "For  ray  part,  I  prefer  coramonplaceness  to 
peculiarity.      The  latter  is  so — hopeless." 

"  I  should  have  said  that  it  was  just  the  other  way 
— that  coramonplaceness  was  hopeless.  But  I  am  open 
to  enlightenment." 

She  looked  at  him  doubtfully,  for,  though  not  an 
intellectual  woman,  she  was  too  shrewd  not  to  know 
when  she  was  laughed  at. 

"If  you  are  open  to  enlightenment,"  she  said, 
"  Cecil  is  a  very  good  case  in  point.  Iso  one  could  be 
more  hopeless  than  she  is.  What  is  to  become  of  her, 
I  do  not  know ;  or  rather,  I  do  know — only  too  well. 
She  will  spend  her  life  teaching  a  wretched  little 
school,  for  she  dislikes  society,  and  she  is  so  unap- 
proachable that  every  one  is  afraid  of  her.  She  might 
have  married  well,  if  she  would ;  but  no  man  has  ever 
come  near  her  whom  she  would  even  take  into  con- 
sideration. "What  can  be  done  with  a  girl  like  that  ? 
Am  I  not  right  in  saying  that  she  is  hopeless  ?     Per- 


40  MISS  CnUR CHILL:    A  STUDY. 

haps,"  Tvitli  a  quick  blusli  of  recollection,  "  I  onglit  not 
to  tell  you  these  things ;  but  you  would  soon  discover 
them  for  yourself." 

"  I  have  ahcady  discovered  that  Miss  Churchill  is 
not — commonplace,"  said  Lysle.  "As  for  the  hope- 
lessness, I  do  not  see  that.  Why  should  you  wish  her 
to  be  exactly  like  other  people  ? " 

Mrs.    Churchill   regarded   him   with   surprise,     f  I 
thought  I  had  told  you,"  she  said ;  "  because,  if  she 
were  like  other  people,  she  would  have  a  much  happier  i 
life." 

j"  I  have  not  observed  that  to  be  commonplace  is 
an  infallible  recipe  for  being  happy ,y^  he  said,  a  little 
dryl3\  "  If  it  were,  and  one  had  any  option,  one  might 
feel  that  even  happiness  was  too  dearly  bought.  But  I 
can  not  think  that  Miss  Churchill  is  debarred  from  it 
because  she  has  an  original  character.  Her  beauty 
alone  should  propitiate  Fate." 

*'  Her  beauty !  "  Mrs.  Churchill's  eyes  opened  wide 
with  astonishment.  "  Do  you  think  her  beautiful  ? 
She  has  never  been  considered  more  than  fine-looking 
— hardly  pretty." 

"  Pretty  is  not  a  word  that  applies  to  her  at  all." 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  'beautifiil !  I  can  not  believe 
you  really  think  her  that." 

"  I  assure  you,  however,  that  I  do.  She  has  a  face 
that,  if  she  were  in  the  world,  artists  and  poets,  and  the 
large  class  that  follow  their  lead,  would  rave  over." 

"  Would  they,  indeed  ? "  said  Mrs.  Churchill.  Her 
surprise  was  not  abated,  and,  with  her  needle  in  the 
hand  suspended  above  her  work,  she  sat  for  a  minute 
gazing  at  him.     "What  a  pity,"  she  said   at   length, 


AMOXG   THE  PINES.  41 

*^  that  she  is  not  in  what  you  call  the  world,  by  which, 
I  suppose,  you  mean  Europe !  Perhaps  she  would 
allow  herself  to  be  admired  by  artists  and  poets,  and 
people  of  that  kind." 

"It  is  a  pity,"  said  Lysle,  with  a  smile.  "Why 
does  she  not  go?  The  fair  American  has  become  a 
conquering  force  over  there,  you  know." 

"  Yes ;  but  the  fair  American  with  money-bags," 
said  Mrs.  Churchill.  "  And  who  in  the  South— that  is 
anybody — has  money  now?  Most  of  us  can  manage 
to  live — after  a  fashion.  But  that  is  all.  We  have  no 
means  to  go  abroad  and  compete  with  millionaires  in 
foreign  society." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  said  Lysle,  thoughtfully ;  and 
then  there  was  a  pause,  which  lasted  for  some  time. 
Mrs.  Churchill  resumed  her  work,  but  she  glanced  occa- 
sionally at  her  companion  with  a  look  that  would  have 
amused  him  had  he  seen  it;  for  it  said  many  things. 
There  was  but  one  explanation,  to  her  mind,  of  this  in- 
terest in  Cecil.  If  Lysle  had  not  already  fallen  in  love, 
he  was  in  a  fair  way  to  do  so  ;  and  hence,  what  would 
be  easier  than  for  him  to  rescue  the  girl  from  the  nar- 
rovmess  of  her  present  lot,  and  introduce  her  into  what 
he  called  "  the  world  "  ?  It  was  all  delightfully  simple 
to  Mrs.  Churchill's  imagination,  in  which  no  complex 
considerations  of  any  kind  were  likely  to  find  a  place. 

Lysle,  on  his  part,  did  not  observe  her  glances.  He 
was  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  looking  at  the  sun- 
bathed tops  of  the  pines,  and  thinking  of  a  life,  rich  in 
possibilities  of  all  kinds,  bound  down  by  relentless  cir- 
cumstances to  an  existence  in  which  there  was  no  room 
for  mental  growth,  doomed  to  see  youth  fade  and  hope 


42  MISS  CHURCHILL:   A  STUDY. 

die,  under  a  round  of  petty  labors  and  cares.  lie  felt 
as  if  it  were  intolerable ;  and  yet  liis  interest  and  con- 
cern were  purely  impersonal,  little  as  Mrs.  Cliurcliill 
could  have  credited  it.  Kis  compassion  was  stirred, 
and  he  was  conscious  of  a  chivalrous  impulse  to  assist 
and,  if  possible,  rescue ;  but  the  naode  of  rescue,  which 
at  once  suggested  itself  to  Mrs.  Churchill,  was  far 
from  his  imagination.  To  admire  a  noble  face,  to  be 
interested  in  an  original  character,  was  one  thing ;  but 
to  think  of  throwing  himself  into  the  breach  and  sacri- 
ficing his  own  life  and  his  own  freedom — for  so  it  would 
have  seemed  to  him — in  order  to  play  the  part  of  rescuer, 
was  an  idea  that  did  not  even  occur  to  him. 

Presently  he  withdrew  his  eyes  from  their  fixed  but 
absent  contemplation  of  the  tree-tops,  and  fastened 
them  on  Mrs.  Churchill,  meetino^  and  arrestins:  one  of 
the  looks  which  she  had  been  at  intervals  casting 
toward  him.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the  dark,  shinino- 
glance  penetrated  to  her  brain  and  read  all  the 
thoughts  that  by  this  time  had  got  as  far  as  Cecil's 
wedding-dress.  But  Lysle  was  not  at  all  cognizant  of 
her  thoughts ;  he  was  absorbed  in  his  own. 

'^  Some  way  must  be  found,"  said  he,  confidently. 
"  There  are  many  problem.s  that  look  hopeless  until 
one  sets  to  work  with  a  resolute  will  to  solve  them." 

"  A  resolute  will  can  do  a  great  deal,"  said  Mrs. 
Churchill,  who  did  not  know  to  what  problem  he  al- 
luded, but  whose  speculations  followed  their  own  bent. 
*'  If  Hugh  and  I  had  listened  to  the  warnings  of  our 
friends,  I  should  not  have  the  pleasure  of  being  here 
to  entertain  you  now." 

"  And  you  have  never  regretted  that  you  took  the 


AMONG   THE  PINES.  43 

risk?"  said  Lysle,  witli  readj  sympathy.  He  did  not 
perceive  the  connection  between  this  remark  and  his 
"own  speech;  but  he  was  accustomed  to  tlie  personal 
turn  which  most  people  hke  to  give  to  conversation. 

"  Kegretted  it  'i — oh  !  "  "Words  seemed  too  feeble 
to  express  how  little  she  had  regretted  it.  "  I  tremble 
when  I  think  we  might  have  feared  and  not  risked  it !  " 
she  cried.  "  I  do  not  think  there  is  a  happier  woman 
in  the  world  than  I  have  been  through  all  our  hard- 
ships, which  were  not  hardships  at  all  compared  with 
what  it  would  have  been  to  be  separated.  And  that 
is  what  makes  me  sorry  for  Cecil — that  there  has  not 
seemed  to  be  any  chance  of  such  happiness  for  her. 
There  are  men  wdio  admire  her,  but  she  will  not  look 
at  them  ;  and  to  grow  old  without  any  home  or  life  of 
your  own — that  is  dreadful !  " 

Lysle  could  not  repress  a  smile.  Little  as  he  knew 
Cecil,  he  felt  certain  that  the  life  which  appeared  so 
desirable  to  her  sister-in-law  would  appear  to  her  as  a 
bondage  worse  than  loneliness.  But  he  was  aware  that 
no  words  could  m-nke  this  comprehensible  to  the  woman 
before  him — the  woman  who  was  the  type  of  a  class  as 
wide  as  the  world  and  as  old  as  humanitv,  to  whom  the 
happiness  and  the  duties  of  domestic  life  form  the  solid 
foundations  of  existence — without  which,  indeed,  exist- 
ence would  seem  a  thing  void  of  purpose  or  meaning. 

"  I  hope  that  Miss  Churchill  may  be  able  to  com- 
mand a  life  of  her  own,"  he  said.  "But  some  lives  can 
not  be  framed  on  the  universal  pattern,  you  know; 
something  must  be  allowed  for  singularity  of  character. 
I  can  not  tell  what  would  suit  her  until  I  know  her  bet- 
ter," he  added,  as  if  speaking  to  himself. 


44  MISS  CHURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

Mrs.  Churchill  gave  hira  a  glance  of  surprise.  It 
seemed  very  plain  to  her  what  would  suit  Cecil  best. 

"1  do  not  think  you  will  find  any  difficulty  in  know- 
ing her  better,"  she  said.  "  Most  people  do  find  ditfi- 
culty  in  knowing,  or,  at  least,  in  understanding  her,  but 
you  will  not.  She  has  been  very  much  interested  in 
jou.  I  have  never  seen  her  so  much  pleased  by  any- 
thing as  by  the  prospect  of  your  coming." 

This  was  not  new  intellio-enee  to  Lvsle.  He  remem- 
bered  the  voice  that  had  told  him  much  the  same  thins: 
under  the  pines  the  evening  before.  It  made  him  feel 
now,  as  then,  that  he  must  offer  something  in  return ; 
that  such  pathetic  expectation  (for  was  it  not  like  a 
prisoner  longing  for  one  brief  glimpse  of  the  outer 
world  through  the  eyes  of  a  friend?)  could  not  be  dis- 
appointed. 

"  I  shall  be  happj  if  my  coming  can  give  her  any 
pleasure,"  he  said  ;  "  or,  better  yet,  if  I  can  serve  her  in 
any  way.  She  fills  one  with  the  desire  to  take  away  the 
fetters  on  her  life,  and  give  her  the  existence  for  which 
she  was  made.  I  should  like  to  see  her,"  he  said,  with 
a  soft  laugh,  "  fully  launched  in  that  existence.  I  should 
like  to  see  what  she  would  do,  what  she  would  become." 

Could  words  be  plainer  than  these  ?  IMrs.  Churchill 
thought  not,  and  she  gave  him  another  glance  of  appro- 
bation, though  she  felt  that  it  was  necessary  to  seem 
not  to  recognize  his  meaning. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  find  that  you  have  a  great  deal 
in  common,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

"My  dear  Cecil,"  said  Mrs.  Churchill,  earnestly, 
"  pray  do  not  wear  that  dress  1  Mr.  Lysle  is  going  to 
walk  with  yon,  I  am  sure.  He  is  in  the  hammock  pre- 
tending to  read  ;  but  I  have  seen  him  for  the  last  half- 
hour  watching  the  house,  and  I  am  certain  he  is  wait- 
ing for  you  to  appear." 

"Well,  and  what  then?"  asked  Cecil,  who  was 
standing  before  the  mirror  in  her  chamber  putting  on 
her  hat.  "  I  shall  be  glad  if  he  goes,  for  I  like  to  talk 
to  him,  or,  rather,  to  hear  him  talk ;  but  what  has  that 
to  do  with  my  dress  ? " 

"  You  foolish  girl ! "  cried  her  sister-in-law.  "  Why, 
it  has  everything  to  do  with  it !  A  man,  whether  he 
knows  it  or  not,  thinks  twice  as  much  of  a  woman  who 
is  prettily  dressed,  and  takes  twice  as  much  interest  in 
talking  to  her.     ]^ow,  that  old  serge  is  disgraceful ! " 

"  Is  it  ? "  said  the  wearer  of  the  serge,  calmly  re- 
garding it.  "I  really  can  not  see  that.  It  is  old,  of 
course,  but  good  enough  for  the  pine-woods." 

"  For  the  pine-woods,  yes — but  not  good  enough  for 
Mr.  Lysle.     Put  on  your  new  surah." 

"J^ettie,  are  you  distracted?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  cried  Nettie  ;  "  it  is  you  who  are  dis- 
tracted— you  who  will  not  heed  anything  that  more 


46  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A   STUDY. 

experienced  people  tell  yon  ! "  Tlien,  with  a  sudden 
change  of  tone :  "  To  oblige  me,  pray  do.  I  can  not 
bear  Mr.  Ljsle  to  see  you  such  a  dowdy  ! " 

''  To  oblige  you  I  would  do  a  great  deal,"  said  Cecil ; 
"but  I  really  can  not  sacrifice  my  best  dress,  for  I  have 
promised  the  boys  to  take  them  to  Elliott's  Pond,  and 
that  is  rather  a  rough  walk.  How  can  you  think  that 
Mr.  Lysle  would  observe  what  I  wear — or  that  it  would 
make  any  difference  if  he  did  observe  it  ? " 

"  Because  I  know  more  of  the  world  and  more  of 
men  than  you  do." 

"  That  is  very  possible,"  said  Miss  Churchill,  quietly ; 
"  but  I  know  best  what  is  suitable  for  a  walk  to  Elliott's 
Pond.  By-the-by,  I  wish  you  would  divert  J^ettie's  at- 
tention, for  she  can  not  go  with  us ;  it  is  too  far." 

She  drew  on  her  gloves  as  she  spoke  and  left  the 
room,  w^hile  her  defeated  and  jirovoked  sister-in-law, 
looking  after  her,  could  not  deny  that  the  much-worn 
serge  fitted  her  figure  well,  and  that  its  soft  folds  had  a 
great  deal  of  grace.  "But  that  is  because  she  is  so 
graceful  herself  that  anything  would  look  well  on  her," 
she  thought.  "It  is  to  be  hoped  that  Mr.  Lysle  is  as 
unobservant  as  some  men,  and  that  he  will  not  discover 
hov/  shabb}^  she  is." 

Lysle  would  not  have  described  himself  as  unob- 
servant, nor  would  any  one  else  have  been  likely  to 
apply  the  term  to  him,  but  certainly  the  idea  of  shab- 
biness,  as  connected  with  Miss  Churchill,  did  not  occur 
to  his  mind  when  he  saw  her.  If  he  thought  of  her 
dress  at  all,  it  was  to  reflect  how  well  its  lines  showed 
the  curves  of  her  beautifully  molded  form.  But,  in 
fact,  this  was  only  a  passing  impression,  entirely  subor- 


AMO^^G    THE  PINES.  47 

dinate  to  the  attention  wliich  he  gave  to  the  cordial 
frankness  of  her  smile. 

"  You  are  coming  with  us?"  she  said,  as  he  rose  and 
advanced  to  meet  her.  "I  thought  jou  might  perhaps 
like  to  do  so,  but  I  must  warn  you  that  we  are  going 
rather  far." 

"  That  does  not  matter,"  he  answered.  "  AVhat  is 
not  too  far  for  you  is  certainly  not  too  far  for  me — that 
is,  if  I  shall  not  be  in  your  way." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all.  I  have  prom.ised  the  boys  to  take 
them  to  Elliott's  Pond — the  only  sheet  of  water  in  our 
neighborhood,  and  therefore  highly  esteemed  by  them 
— so  1  can  promise  you  a  little  more  variety  than  there 
would  be  in  any  other  walk  we  could  choose." 

"  The  variety  is  not  necessary  as  an  inducement.  I 
have  told  you  how  much  I  like  the  monotony  of  the 
pines." 

"  You  will  not  escape  the  pines,"  she  said,  smiling. 
"  Our  way,  of  course,  lies  through  them — but  not  in  the 
same  direction  we  followed  yesterday." 

As  she  spoke,  they  turned  toward  the  valley  on  the 
western  side  of  the  house.  At  the  bottom  of  this  val- 
ley a  small  stream  flowed,  and  Lysle  was  informed  that 
by  following  it  for  about  two  miles  they  would  reach 
their  destination — the  pond  from  which  it  issued.  He 
w^as  w^ell  content  to  do  so.  A  much  greater  distance 
would  not  have  dismayed  him,  with  the  golden  beauty  of 
the  October  afternoon  around  him,  and  Cecil  Churchill 
by  his  side.  The  boys,  with  their  intimate  friend  and 
companion — a  great  Newfoundland  dog  —  ran  on  be- 
fore, w^hile  these  two  paced  slowly  along  over  the  car- 
pet of  pine-straw,  with  the  solemn  trees  above,  and 


48  MISS  CnURCniLL:    A  STUDY. 

the  soft,  warm  air  encompassing  tliem  like  a  caress  of 
Nature. 

^'  And  so,"  said  Ljsle,  following  witli  liis  eyes  the 
two  small  figures  which  disappeared  around  a  gentle 
slope  in  front  of  them,  "you  are  an  instructor  of  youth, 
Miss  Churchill  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  after  a  fasLion." 

He  glanced  at  her  with  one  of  his  quick  smiles.  "  I 
fancy  that  it  must  be  after  a  very  good  fashion,"  he  said. 
*' You  do  not  strike  me  as  a  person  who  would  under- 
take to  do  a  thing  which  you  could  not  do  thoroughly." 

"  That  is  very  kind  of  you,"  she  began,  but  he  inter- 
rupted : 

"  Kind  of  me — pardon — to  receive  a  certain  impres- 
sion of  you  ?     I  am  sure  you  do  not  think  that !  " 

"Well,  perhaps  not,"  she  said,  with  a  langh,  "since 
you  put  it  in  that  way.  And  you  are  right  in  so  far 
that  I  would  not  undertake  to  teach  what  I  did  not 
know  thoroughly.  But  to  know  is  not  enough.  In  or- 
der to  teach  well,  one  shonld  have  the  faculty  of  im- 
parting knowledge,  of  interesting  and  quickening  the 
intelligence  of  others — and  I  fail  in  those  things." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  can  not  put  myself  sufficiently  en  TajpjpoH 
with  the  children's  minds,  I  suppose.  They  weary  in- 
stead of  interesting^  me." 

"  You  do  not  like  children  %  " 

"  Why  should  one  like  children  simply  as  children  ? 
You  might  ns  well  ask  me  if  I  like  people.  I  like  some 
children,  as  I  like  some  people — but  not  many." 

"  I  should  think  that  your  liking  would  be  of  a  very 
discriminating  order,"  he  said,  smiling  again.      "  But 


AMO^^'G   TEE  PmES.  49 

this  consciousness — shall  I  call  it  ? — on  your  part  must 
make  the  labor  very  irksome  to  you." 

"  It  does.  But  what  then  ?  The  world  could  not  go 
on  if  people  gave  up  labor  whenever  it  became  irksome." 

"  Oh,  the  world  !  "  He  made  a  little  gesture  of  in- 
difference. *'  That  may  go  on  as  best  it  can.  I  confess 
that  I  am  not  interested  in  it.  But  you — why  should 
you  do  this  thing  if  it  is  disagreeable  to  you  ?  I  know," 
he  added,  quickly,  "  that  it  is  a  question  I  have  no  right 
to  ask — but  perhaps  you  will  pardon  me  for  asking  it." 

"  It  is  a  natural  question,  if  Nettie  has  been  telling 
you  that  I  do  it  for  my  amusement,  as  very  likely  she 
has,"  Miss  Churchill  answered,  quietly.  "  But  the  truth 
is,  that  I  do  it  for  the  sake  of  independence.  I  can  not 
feel  that  I  am  a  charge  upon  my  brother  so  long  as  I 
save  him  the  expense  of  a  governess  for  his  children. 
And  with  regard  to  the  others  whom  I  teach — well, 
that  is  in  order  to  'put  money  in  my  purse.'  Kot  much, 
certainly,  but  enough  for  my  personal  needs.  Kow,  are 
you  satisfied,  Mr.  Lysle?" 

"  I  am  answered.  Miss  Churchill ;  but  I  can  not  hon- 
estly declare  that  I  am  satisfied.  I  suppose  you  know 
what  it  is  to  have  your  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things 
offended  ?  "Well,  my  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  is 
altogether  offended  by  the  picture  you  have  drawn  of 
yourself — wasting  your  youth  and  your  powers  in  teach- 
ing half  a  dozen  small  children  to  read,  and  write,  and 
parse." 

"  Wasting  my  youth  and  my  powers  !  "  she  repeat- 
ed.    "  I  grant  the  youth — although  I  really  do  not  see 
what  else  I  could  do  with  it.     But  the  powers — I  am 
afraid,  Mr.  Lysle,  that  you  must  be  laughing  at  me." 
5 


50  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A   STUDY. 

"  No,"  said  Ljsle.  "  Forgive  me,  but  you  are  not 
afraid  of  anything  of  the  kind.  You  know  that  I  mean 
what  I  say,  and  you  also  know  that  you  have  powers 
which  are  not  ordinary." 

The  expression  of  her  face  changed  as  suddenly  as 
if  a  mask  had  been  removed  from  it.  She  turned  her 
head  and  looked  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  sadness. 

"  I  do  not  know  it,"  she  said.  "  I  know  that  I  have 
desires  which  torment  me,  and  (that  I  have  aspirations 
which,  no  doubt,  are  only  follies ;  but  I  do  not  know 
that  I  have  any  powers.     How  could  I  know  it  ? " 

"  The  question  is,  rather,  how  could  you  avoid 
knowing  it?"  said  Lysle,  trying  to  speak  lightly,  yet 
touched  by  the  pathetic  fall  of  the  voice  over  the  last 
words.  "Do  you  think — do  you  really  think — that 
you  are  made  of  commonplace  material  ?  " 

"Not  exactly,"  she  answered.  "The  fact  of  my 
peculiarity  has  been  very  carefully  impressed  upon  me 
from  my  childhood.  But  one  may  be  peculiar  without 
being  remarkable  otherwise." 

"  That  depends  entirely  upon  the  form  which  the 
peculiarity  takes.  I  should  say  that  yours  means  that 
you  are — remarkable." 

"  You  have  not  known  me  long  enough  to  discover 
that,"  she  said,  quickly. 

"  You  pay  a  very  poor  compliment  to  my  penetra- 
tion," he  returned.  "  Have  you  forgotten  our  conver- 
sation yesterday  afternoon  ?  I  learned  a  great  many 
things  in  the  course  of  that." 

"  I  thought  it  was  the  other  way — that  I  learned  a 
good  many  things.  But  23erhaps  you  will  tell  me  what 
you  learned?" 


AMOXG   THE  PINES,  51 

"  For  one  thing,  I  learned  that  you  possess  so  much 
discernment,  that  if  I  had  been  as  certain  of  your  in- 
dulgence as  of  the  kindness  of  your  judgment,  I  should 
have  been  tempted  to  ask  how  you  had  acquired  it — 
here  1 " 

"  And  1  should  have  answered  that,  if  I  have  any 
discernment  of  the  kind  you  mean,  I  have  not  acquired 
it  here — or  anywhere.  It  is  an  instinct,  not  an  acquire- 
ment." 

"  Exactly.  And  so  are  other  things — other  powers 
which  you  possess,  and  of  which  you  must  be  as  con- 
scious as  I  am  that  I  possess  the  capabihty  of — let  us 
say,  writing  a  readable  book  within  a  reasonable  length 
of  time." 

'^  You  forget  that  you  have  written  books.  I  have 
done  nothing." 

"  But  I  was  more  sure  of  my  power  before  I  had 
written  anything  than  I  am  now.  I^ow  I  know  its 
limitations ;  then  it  had  none — in  my  fancy,  at  least. 
Do  not  try  to  make  me  believe,  Miss  Churchill,  that 
you  have  no  faith  in  yourself,  for  I  am  certain  that  you 
must  have." 

"  ]^o,"  she  said,  "  I  have  none.  Believe  it,  and  let 
us  talk  of  something  else — of  your  life,  if  you  have  no 
objection.  To  talk  of  mine  oppresses  me — like  the  life 
itself ;  but,  when  I  hear  you  talk,  I  seem  to  feel  myself 
transported  into  another  existence.  Wonderful  fresh 
airs  seem  blowing  round  me  ;  continents  and  seas  unroll 
before  me ;  the  lights  of  great  cities  shine  before  my 
eyes ;  I  realize  all  that  there  is  in  the  world — and  all 
that  there  might  be." 

"  For  you,"  he  said,  ^'  there  might  be  intense  pleas- 


52  MISS  CEURGEILL:    A  STUDY. 

lire,  for  jou  would  find  in  yourself  a  response  to  every 
influence  of  nature  or  of  art." 

"  Perhaps  so  " — she  drew  her  brows  together  as  if 
in  pain  ;  "  but  wliy  will  you  persist  in  talking  of 
me  ? " 

"Because  the  subject  possesses  an  interest  for  me 
which  it  apparently  does  not  for  you.  But,  since  you 
desire  it,  I  will  talk  of  something  else.  Only  tell  me 
what  it  shall  be." 

"  You  wish  me  to  choose  the  subject  ? " 

"  Can  you  ask  'i  Have  you  forgotten  so  soon  your 
promise  of  yesterday  ?  The  volume  is  in  your  hands  : 
turn  to  what  page  you  will." 

"  You  are  very  good.  Tell  me,  then,  something  of 
intellectual  society  in  London.  I  suppose  you  know  it 
very  well  ? " 

"  I  know  it  tolerably  well — that  is,  I  know  most  of 
the  intellectual  and  artistic  celebrities.  But  you  are, 
perhaps,  aware  that  we  have  nothing  in  London  an- 
swering to  the  French  salon^  so  there  is  no  solidarity  in 
our  intellectual  world.  The  people  exist,  however,  and 
therefore — shall  I  commence  with  the  older,  or  younger, 
celebrities  ? " 

"Commence  with  the  older  and  pass  on  to  the 
younger,"  said  she,  smiling. 

Perhaps  Lysle  exerted  himself  to  talk  specially 
well,  or  perhaps  he  talked  well  without  exertion,  in- 
spired by  the  close  attention  of  his  listener ;  but,  cer- 
tainly, two  miles  had  never  before  appeared  so  short  to 
Cecil.  One  after  another  of  those  whose  names  are 
famous  throughout  the  world  seemed  to  pass  before 
her,  until  she  felt  as  if  the  winding  valley,  with  its 


AMO^^G   TEE  PINES.  53 

golden  atmosphere,  would  ever  after  be  filled  with  a 
procession  of  great  figures,  shadowy  yet  distinct. 

Meanwhile,  as  they  advanced,  the  gentle  ridges  on 
each  side  grew  bolder,  and  presently,  turning  round  the 
projecting  slope  of  a  hill,  they  found  themselves  in  a 
glen  where  the  heights,  taking  a  more  abrupt  character, 
suddenly  closed  around  a  sheet  of  water  that  lay  im- 
prisoned in  their  embrace.  So  still  it  lay,  so  absolutely 
devoid  of  motion,  that  it  was  like  an  enchanted  lake, 
buried  here  in  the  far  recesses  of  the  hills.  Steep 
banks  rose  on  every  side  from  the  clear  expanse,  that 
as  a  mirror  reflected  the  dark  masses  of  trees  surround- 
ing it.  Deep  shadows  and  soft  lights  made  up  the 
scene,  in  which  there  was  a  suggestion  of  infinite  mel- 
ancholy; for,  although  floods  of  sunshine  fell  on  the 
surface  of  the  water,  it  was  like  an  illusive  brightness, 
that  could  not  touch  the  depths  below,  which  seemed 
to  hold  and  brood  over  some  secret  whispered  by  the 
solemn,  girdling  pines. 

"What  a  melancholy  place!"  said  Lysle,  involun- 
tarily. 

If 

Cecil  looked  at  him  with  a  smile.  "  Do  you  think 
it  melancholy  now  ? "  she  asked.  "  You  should  see  it 
on  a  sunless  day — say  of  late  November  or  December — 
when  the  sky  is  covered  with  gray  cloud,  and  there  is 
not  a  ray  of  light  or  a  tint  of  color  anywhere.  You 
would  call  it  melancholy  then." 

"  I  dare  say  I  should.  And  you — do  you  always 
make  a  point  of  coming  to  see  it  on  such  days  ? " 

She  laughed.  "  Oh,  no.  But  I  confess  that  on  such 
a  day  I  am  very  likely  to  think  of  it ;  and  if  I  go  out, 
and   if  there  is  nothing  else  to  do,  I  have  more  incli- 


54  ^I'SS  CEUR CHILL:    A  STUDY. 

nation  to  turn  mj  face  in  tliis  direction  than  in  any 
other." 

"  I  see,"  said  Lysle.  The  glance  which  rested  on 
her  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  saw  a  good  deal. 

She  caught  and  understood  it,  for  she  colored  a  lit- 
tle.    ''  I  am  afraid  you  think  me  morbid,"  she  said. 

"  Ko,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "  Some  one  of  a  ro- 
bustly cheerful  and  unimaginative  disposition  might 
think  you  so,  but  I  do  not.  I  only  think  that  you  need 
more  brightness  in  your  life." 

"  Mr.  Lysle,  have  I  not  told  you — " 

"  Yes,"  he  interposed,  "  but  you  must  suffer  me  to 
disregard  what  you  have  told  me.  Let  us  sit  down — 
you  must  be  tired — and  then  let  me  ask  you  a  question 
or  two  about  this  life  of  yours." 

There  was  a  gentle  insistence  in  his  tone  and  man- 
ner so  far  removed  from  anything  presumptuous,  and 
so  full  of  unspoken  interest  and  sympathy,  that  she 
yielded,  and  sat  down  on  the  bank,  with  its  warm,  dry 
carpet  of  pine-straw,  the  still  water  at  her  feet  and  the 
whispering  trees  above.  The  slumberous  softness  of 
the  afternoon  was  all  about  them,  broken  only  by  the 
shouts  of  laughter  of  the  boys,  who  had  gone  to  the 
upper  end  of  the  pond  and  were  amusing  themselves  by 
sending  the  dog  into  the  water  after  fragments  of  stick. 

Lysle  threw  himself  down  by  Miss  Churchill's  side 
and  held  his  peace  for  a  moment.  He  had  a  sing-nlar 
sensation — an  anticipation  of  the  future,  at  it  were — 
which  made  him  feel  that  he  should  lons^  recall  this 
spot,  with  its  bright  stillness  and  its  underlying  melan- 
choly, as  a  frame  for  the  figure  beside  him,  for  the 
pale,  beautiful  face  that  looked  at  him  with  wistful 


AMONG   THE  PINES.  55 

eyes.  His  own  eyes  passed  from  point  to  point,  tak- 
ing in  every  detail — brown  Lill-sides,  shadowy  ravines, 
dream-like  water,  and  mellow  sunshine  falling  on  the 
rich,  deep  green  of  the  massed  pine-foliage.  There  was 
a  spell  in  the  scene  which  his  voice  hardly  seemed  to 
break  when  he  spoke  : 

"  You  think  that  I  am  persistent  in  wishing  to  dis- 
cuss your  life,  but  it  is  because  I  received  from  it  much 
the  same  impression  which  this  water  gives  me — that 
of  a  thing  confined  in  such  narrow  limits  that  it  has 
sunk  into  still  hopelessness." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  without  looking  at  him,  for  her 
own  eves  were  fastened  on  the  mirror-like  surface  at 
her  feet — "  and  if  I  admit  that  your  comparison  is  a 
good  one,  what  then  ?  The  limits  exist,  and  must  re- 
main." 

/"E"ot  necessarily.  This  water  might  be  released, 
to  rush  down  the  valley  in  a  qnick,  rejoicing  stream,  in- 
stead of  being  pent  here  in  silence  and  loneliness." 

"  The  water  ?  Yes,  no  doubt  that  could  easily  be 
done;  but  there  your  comparison  fails.  There  is  no 
power  to  set  my  life  free  in  that  way." 

"  Again  forgive  my  persistence,  but  why  not  ? " 

She  looked  at  him  with  evident  sui-prise.  "  Surely 
you  know,"  she  said,  simply.  "When  one  is  poor,  one's 
life  must  be  bound  in  narrow  limits — and  I  am  poor. 
Have  you  not  understood  that  ?  I  have  no  fortune  at 
all.  How,  then,  would  you  propose  that  my  life  should 
be  set  free  ?  " 

It  was  a  direct  and  practical  question,  which  Lysle 
found  himself  altogether  unable  to  answer.  In  the 
eagerness  of  his  interest  he  had  not  sufficiently  con- 


66  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

sidered  tlie  fact  of  the  ruin  that  had  overtaken  the 
Churchills.  lie  saw  Hugh  prospering  after  a  manner, 
and  he  failed  to  realize  that  his  sister  might  be  penni- 
less. The  realization  came  to  him  with  a  shock.  As 
he  looked  at  her  with  a  startled  glance,  she  smiled. 

''You  see  it  is  as  1  told  jou  yesterday  afternoon," 
she  said.  "  A  woman  is  powerless  to  make  her  tastes 
or  her  capacities  serve  her  needs.  I  can  not  go  and 
become  a  war  correspondent.  I  must  sit  at  home  and 
teach  a  few  small  children." 

"  You  can  not  go  and  become  a  war  correspondent 
— no,"  he  answered.  "But  you  are  mistaken  if  you 
think  there  are  not  many  other  ways  in  which  a  woman's 
tastes  and  capacities  can  serve  her  needs.  It  is  the 
narrowness  of  your  life  which  makes  you  entertain  such 
an  idea." 

"Again  let  me  remind  you  that  I  told  you  yester- 
day how  fully  I  am  aware  that  in  the  world  many 
things  are  open  to  women  as  well  as  to  men.  But  if 
one  is  not  in  the  world,  and  if  one  has  not  the  means  of 
going  there — if  one  is  bound  fast  in  a  life  of  the  nar- 
rowest possible  opportunities — wdiat  would  you  propose 
that  one  should  do?  Ah,  believe  me" — her  voice 
changed  suddenly  from  calm  reasoning  to  passionate 
feeling — 'fl  have  beaten  my  wings  against  the  bars 
until  I  know  their  strength ;  I  have  thought  of  every- 
thing, and  if  I  have  tried  nothing,  it  has  only  been  be- 
cause there  was  nothing  to  tvj^  You  talked,  a  little 
while  ago,  of  my  powers,  and  I  hope  you  did  not  guess 
what  mockery  your  words  seemed  to  me.  For  even  if 
it  were  true  that  I  have  some  capabilities,  some  gifts 
which  are  not  common,  of  what  use  are  they  without 


AMOXG   TEE  FINES.  57 

cultivation  ?  And  I  have  been  debarred  from  that,  as 
from  all  else.  You  can  not  imagine  how  I  feel  the 
need  of  wider  education  and  higher  culture — hoAv  I 
have  vainly  stretched  out  my  hands  and  caught  what 
ghmpses  and  fragments  I  could — how  I  have  eaten  out 
my  heart  in  longing  for  what  I  had  no  power  to  reach. 
Ah,  what  bitterness  it  has  been  ! "  She  suddenly 
turned  her  face  away  from  him.  "I  don't  see  why  I 
should  tell  you  all  this,"  she  added/ after  a  moment,  in  a 
different  tone. 

"  I  see,"  said  Lysle,  softly.  He  was  deeply  moved 
and  touched.  "  You  tell  me  because  you  are  as  sure  of 
my  understanding  and  sympathy  as  I  was  sure  of  yours 
yesterday  afternoon.  It  is  as  I  said  then :  we  are  meant 
to  be  friends — and  friends  should  help  each  other.  You 
must  suffer  me  to  help  you." 

"  That  is  impossible,"  she  said,  coldly  and  proudly. 
"  1^0  one  can  help  me,  and  I  have  only  told  you  be- 
cause— " 

"  Because  I  was  so  insistent.  Yes,  I  know.  But  I 
have  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world,  and  if  I  might  read 
the  riddle  to  you,  and  point  out,  perhaps,  how  your 
abilities  could  be  employed  to  further  your  wishes — " 

He  paused,  for  she  looked  at  him  now  with  some- 
thing of  quickened  eagerness  under  the  sad  hopelessness 
of  her  eyes.  But  the  gleam  faded  almost  as  quickly  as 
it  came. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  she  said  again.  "  If  I  have  any 
capacities,  they  are  untrained  ;  and  what  is  untrained  is 
useless  ;  I  know  enough  to  be  sure  of  that." 

"  You  are  determined  to  take  an  absolutely  hope- 
less view  of  the  case,"  he  said.     "  But  you  rouse  my 


58  ^I'SS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

obstinacy,  and  I  am  determined  to  make  yon  see 
things  in  a  different  liglit." 

Again  she  drew  her  brows  together  as  if  in  pain  or 
displeasure.  "  You  mean  to  be  kind,  Mr.  Lysle,"  she 
said  ;  "  I  have  no  doubt  of  that.  But  I  really  can  not 
perceive  why  you  should  take  so  much  interest — " 

"Then  let  me  tell  you  why,"  said  Lysle,  gently. 
He  saw  that  it  was  necessary  to  assure  his  footing  be- 
fore he  could  advance  a  step  farther  with  this  proud 
and  susceptible  spirit,  and,  being  a  man  of  many  hap- 
py inspirations,  he  knew  at  once  how  it  could  best  be 
done.  "  When  I  came  first  to  this  country,"  he  said, 
"I  was  a  lonely,  com^panionless  child,  with  a  father 
who  was  dying.  I  shall  never  forget,  Miss  Churchill, 
the  infinite  kindness  of  your  father  toward  us.  There 
were  absolutely  no  bounds  to  that  kindness,  to  his 
splendid  hospitality,  or  to  the  delicate  consideration 
that  seemed  always  trying  to  do  us  a  benefit  or  give  us 
a  pleasure.  And  how  many  pleasures  he  gave  me! 
My  life  contains  no  brighter  or  happier  memories  than 
of  the  days — nay,  the  weeks  and  months — I  spent 
at  your  beautiful  old  home  on  the  sea-coast.  How  I 
can  see  it  at  this  moment — the  great  house,  alive  al- 
ways with  gayety  and  movement,  the  noble  avenues  of 
live-oaks,  the  spacious  gardens  filled  with  fragrance, 
and  the  wide  stretch  of  the  river  opening  to  the  sea ! 
All  the  delights  that  boyhood  most  keenly  loves,  I 
knew  there  in  perfection ;  and  all  of  them  had  a 
deeper  zest  from  the  admiration  and  affection  that  I 
felt  for  your  father.  He  lives  in  my  memory  as  a 
model  of  stately  manhood,  yet  so  genial,  so  kindly,  that 
no  child  could  fear  him  for  an  instant." 


AMOKG   TEE  FINES.  59 

"Ah,  how  true  that  is  !  "  she  said,  softly.  "  I  only 
knew  him  as  a  child,  but  it  is  just  so  that  I  remember 
him." 

"Well,"  said  Lysle,  "think  of  all  that  kindness 
treasured  in  mj  memory — as  I  assure  you  that  it  has 
been — during  the  long  years  that  have  passed  since  I 
went  away,  with  not  the  least  power  to  return  it  in  any 
degree,  or  even  to  show  my  recollection  of  it ;  and 
now.  Miss  Churchill — now,  if  I  can  do  the  least  service 
to  you,  shall  I  not  be  only  repaying  in  some  small  de- 
gree my  debt  to  your  father  ?  And  should  you  deny 
me  the  pleasure  of  doing  that  ?  Surely  not,  if  you  are 
as  generous  as  he  was." 

She  smiled  a  little,  though  crystal  moisture  was 
shining  in  her  eyes.  "  I  suppose  we  all  like  better  to 
give  than  to  receive,"  she  said.  "At  least,  I  am  sure 
that  I  do.  But  you  have  made  your  plea  well,  Mr. 
Lysle,  and  have  rendered  it  impossible  for  me  to  re- 
fuse to  let  you  serve  me — if  there  were  any  way  in 
which  you  could.     But  there  is  none." 

"  That  is  the  point  you  must  let  me  decide,"  he 
said,  quickly.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  annoy  you,  but  you 
can  not  deny  that  you  have  always  been  conscious  of 
something  in  yourself  which  sets  you  apart  from  the 
people  around  you — that  you  feel  the  stirring  of  a 
power  which  may  not  yet  have  found  its  particular  ex- 
pression, or  that,  again,  may  have  done  so.  That  is 
what  I  should  like  to  know,  if  you  have  no  objection 
to  telling  me — whether  it  has  found  expression." 

"  I  see,"  she  said,  "  that  I  might  as  well  tell  you 
everything  of  the  Kttle  there  is  to  tell.  Yes,  it  has 
found   its   expression.     I   have  tried — to   write.     But 


60  MJ^S  on  WE  CHILL:    A  STUDY. 

•what  I  have  attempted  has  fallen  so  far  short  of  what  I 
wished  to  do — I  have  been  so  disgusted  and  discour- 
aged by  every  effort  I  have  naade — that  I  liave  said  to 
myself  that  my  aspiration  is  only  a  folly,  and  that  I 
have  no  real  j^ower  at  all." 

"  You  are  not  the  best  judge  of  that,"  he  said. 
"  In  fact,  you  are  no  judge  at  all.  I  grant  you  that  it 
is  possible  to  possess  the  artistic  temperament  without 
artistic  power — strange  as  it  may  seem.  But  that  is 
not  the  case  with  you.     I  am  certain  of  it." 

*'  How  can  you  be  certain  ?  You  know  nothing — 
well,  then,  so  little — of  me." 

"  Must  I  remind  you  again  that  I  lay  claim  to  seme 
power  of  penetration  ?  I  divined  you — may  I  say  ? — 
the  first  moment  that  I  looked  at  you  ;  and  every  word 
that  you  have  uttered  since  then  has  deepened  my 
interest,  and  proved  the  accuracy  of  my  first  impres- 
sion." 

She  did  not  answer,  as  she  looked  away  medita- 
tively, oyer  the  sunlit  water,  at  the  pine-clad  slopes  of 
the  opposite  bank.  Lysle,  on  his  part,  regarded  the 
pure,  pale  profile,  the  large,  full,  thoughtful  eyes,  and 
said  to  himself  that  the  interest  which  had  first  made 
him  desire  to  lead  her  to  reveal  herself  was  indeed 
deepening  with  every  moment.  He  felt  that  she  was 
like  the  water  before  him  in  more  respects  than  that 
of  which  he  had  spoken.  Like  it,  she  showed  a  sur- 
face calm  and  even  sunny,  but  he  knew  that  under- 
neath there  were  depths  which  he  had  not  even  begun 
to  sound.  Perhaps  it  was  natural  that  this  realization 
should  have  filled  him  with  a  desire  to  sound  them. 

He  did  not  break  her  musing  pause,  and  at  length 


AMOXG   THE  PmES.  61 

she  glanced  around  and  met  liis  gaze.  "  The  question 
is,"  she  said,  "  How  are  you  going  to  test  the  accuracy 
of  your  behef  ?  " 

"  Surely,"  he  answered,  "  that  is  easily  done.  I 
have  exercised  my  judgment  in  a  critical  capacity  very 
often ;  will  you  not  let  me  exercise  it  once  more  ? 
"VYill  you  not  show  me  something  that  you  have  writ- 
ten ? " 

She  drew  back  quickly.  "Ko;  it  is  impossible," 
she  said.  "  Have  I  not  told  you  that  I  have  failed — 
utterly  ? " 

"  You  think  so ;  but  for  that  very  reason  I  do  not 
believe  that  you  have.  If  you  were  satisfied  with  your 
efforts,  I  should  have  less  hope.  That  is  a  paradox, 
perhaps,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  ^'  but  I  think  you  will 
understand  it." 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  she  answered,  "  but  you  are 
mistaken." 

He  lifted  his  shoulders  lightly.  "  Then  it  is  very 
easy  to  convince  me  of  the  fact." 

^'  I  suppose  it  is."  She  frowned,  however,  as  she 
looked  away  again.  Her  reluctance  to  what  he  pro- 
posed was  evidently  very  deep-seated.  "  It  may  seem 
strange,"  she  said,  at  length,  "that  I  should  mind  this 
so  much,  when  I  have  told  you  that  I  have  failed.  It 
would  appear  as  if  I  should  not  care  what  you  thought 
of  that  which  has  disgusted  myself.  And  yet,  does 
one  like  to  show  one's  failures  to  a  critical  eye,  when — 
()  Mr.  Lysle,  you  force  me  to  say  it ! — one  feels  that 
under  kindlier  circumstances  one  might  have  done  bet- 
ter ? " 

Mr.  Lysle's  critical  eye  gave  a  flash  of  triumph. 
6 


62  MISS   CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY, 

"  All !  "  he  said,  "  I  have  forced  jou  to  acknowledge 
that  JOU  have  some  faith  in  yourself.  I  understand 
what  you  feel ;  but  do  not  fear  that  I  shall  not  know 
how  to  make  allowances  for  all  the  difficulties  under 
which  you  have  labored.  I  shall  not  look  for  fulfill- 
ment ;  I  shall  only  look  for  promise." 

''  Well,  then,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  smile,  "on  that 
condition  I  may  think  of  it.  And  there  is  something 
else.  Will  you  promise  not  to  utter  one  word  of  com- 
pliment— not  to  gloss  over  the  truth  in  the  faintest  de- 
gree ? " 

"Am  I  not  even  to  praise,  if  praise  is  due?  You 
may  be  sure  I  shall  not  praise  if  it  is  not  due." 

"  I  had  rather  you  did  not  think  that  there  was  even 
a  possibility  of  praise  ;  for,  honestly,  I  should  not  believe 
in  its  sincerity." 

"  That  is  because  you  do  me  less  than  justice,"  he 
said.  "I  should  not  think  of  insulting  you  with  false 
praise.  But  we  will  not  speak  of  praise  at  all.  I  shall 
simply  tell  you  what  I  believe  your  efforts  indicate — 
what  degree  of  power  and  hope  for  your  future." 

She  bent  her  head  with  the  gesture  of  one  who  ac- 
cepts an  offered  service.  "  If  you  wdll  do  that,"  she  said, 
"  and  that  only,  I  shall  be  grateful.  After  all,  it  is 
hard  to  estimate  the  exact  value  of  what  one  does  one's 
self.  And  now  " — she  rose — "  I  think  it  is  time  we 
should  be  setting  our  faces  homeward.  Will  you  call 
the  boys  ? " 


CHAPTEE  yi. 

Lysle  took  care  that  Miss  CImrcliill  should  not  for- 
get her  promise.  He  reminded  her  of  it  a  few  days 
later,  as  they  sat  one  evening  in  the  gloaming  on  the 
piazza.  He  was  not  surprised  that  her  reluctance  to 
f ulhll  it  seemed  as  strong  as  ever ;  he  had  felt  sure  she 
would  regret  the  confidence  he  had  in  a  measure  ex- 
torted, and  that  her  life-long  reticence  could  not  be 
broken  without  pain  to  herself.  But  he  was  not  pre- 
pared for  her  penetration,  when  she  said  : 

"  Why  are  yon  so  anxious  for  this,  Mr.  Lysle  ? 
Is  it  because  you  want  to  study  myself  in  my  poor 
efforts  ? " 

He  smiled.  "  I  admit  that  you  are  a  very  interest- 
ing study,"  he  replied;  "but  1  assure  you  that,  if  I 
have  such  a  selfish  end  in  view  at  all,  it  is  at  least  not 
my  chief  end.  What  I  desire — I  must  repeat  it,  though 
you  will  not  believe  me — is  to  serve  you  if  I  can,  by 
means  of  such  critical  faculty  and  knowledge  of  Hfe  as 
I  possess." 

Even  in  the  twilight  he  saw  that  she  blushed. 
"  Yon  must  pardon  me  for  making  yon  repeat  it,"  she 
said  ;  "  but  faith  is  not  my  strong  point — neither  faith 
in  myself  nor  in  others." 

"  I  should  like,"  he  said,  "  to  teach  yon  faith  in  your- 


64  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

self,  and  after  that  a  limited  faith  in  nie.  I  would  not 
be  unreasonable :  I  would  not  ask  that  it  should  be 
boundless,  but  only  that  you  would  believe  in  the  sin- 
cerity of  my  good  intentions." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  your  sincerity,"  she  answered,  grave- 
ly.    '^  You  must  not  think  so." 

"  Then  you  doubt  something  else — the  degree  of 
my  interest,  or  my  capacity  to  judge,  or  my  power  to 
serve  you.  Doubt  all,  if  you  will,  but  give  me  at  least 
an  opportunity  to  prove  that  you  are  nustaken.  It 
comes  to  this — I  claim  your  promise." 

He  spoke  eagerly,  and  in  his  eagerness  held  out  his 
hand — a  slender,  nervous,  muscular  hand — as  if  he  ex- 
pected her  to  produce  at  once  what  he  desired  ;  but  she 
only  sat  silent  for  a  minute,  looking  at  him.  Their 
glances  met  in  the  dusk — his  bright  and  vivid,  hers 
deep,  doubtful,  searching.  At  length,  with  a  supreme 
effort,  her  hesitation  seemed  to  end.  She  said,  in  a  low 
tone,  "Wait!"  and,  rising,  entered  the  house.  Lysle 
smiled  to  himself  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  He 
had  gained  his  point,  and,  in  the  satisfaction  of  feeling 
this,  he  forgot  to  consider  that  it  would  be  rather  awk- 
ward if,  after  all,  he  had  to  declare  the  worthlessness  of 
what  was  to  be  submitted  to  him. 

Cecil  returned  in  a  few  minutes  with  a  small  pack- 
age in  her  hand.  He  rose  quickly,  and  she  gave  it  to 
him,  saying:  "It  is  true  that  I  promised,  so  here  is  the 
fulfillment  of  my  promise ;  but  it  will  serve  no  pur- 
pose." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,"  he  answered,  as  he  slipped 
the  parcel  into  an  inner  pocket  of  his  coat.  "  Meanwhile, 
I  thank  you  for  trusting  me." 


AMOXG   TEE  PIKES.  65 

She  did  not  answer,  for  at  that  moment  there  was  a 
step  behind  them.  Mrs.  Chnrchill  appeared,  and  op- 
portunity for  further  speech  was  at  an  end. 

Ljsle  felt  like  a  victor  with  a  hardlj-won  trophv, 
when,  in  the  safe  seclusion  of  his  chamber  a  few  hours 
later,  he  drew  forth  the  package.  Yet  he  also  felt  as  if 
he  were  \aolating  the  secrecy  of  this  reserved  spirit — this 
soul  that  locked  in  itself  with  jealous  care  all  the  wealth 
of  its  imagination  and  the  passion  of  its  aspiration.  He 
was  like  one  who  stood  on  the  threshold  of  a  sanctuarv 
where  no  profane  foot  had  ever  entered  before.  What 
should  he  find  within  ?  What  revelation  of  weakness 
or  of  power  would  these  pages  hold?  He  looked  at 
them  as  if  half  regretting  the  persistence  which  had 
placed  them  in  his  hands.  Then,  with  a  smile  at  his 
own  folly,  he  sat  down  and  began  to  read. 

He  read  at  first  with  careful  and  critical  attention, 
then,  as  his  interest  quickened,  w^th  rapid  eagerness. 
His  taste,  trained  according  to  the  finest  standard  of 
French  rather  than  English  art,  found  faults  and  to 
spare ;  but  he  also  found  a  power  for  which  he  was 
unprepared,  much  as  he  had  said  to  Cecil  of  belief  in 
her  capabilities.  What  she  had  given  him  was  a  story 
deal  in  o:  with  the  rude  class — the  wood-cutters  and  tur- 
pentine-gatherers — that  live  in  the  remotest  depths  of 
the  pine-lands.  It  was  a  recital  of  brief  passion  end- 
ing in  swift  tragedy,  and,  while  crude  in  many  respects, 
there  was  a  vigor  in  every  stroke,  and  a  strong  dramatic 
instinct  which  missed  no  essential  point.  As  was  to  be 
expected,  it  was  steeped  in  local  color.  The  somber 
aisles  of  the  great  forest  opened  in  long  vistas  ;  its  deep 
melancholy  unconsciously  acting  upon  the  narrow  lives 


QO  MISS  CEURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

of  tliose  who  dwelt  within  it,  was  presented  vividly  on 
every  page,  and  gave  to  the  whole  narrative  a  tinge  of 
romanticism — as  if  the  events  took  place  in  some  dim  re- 
gion of  shadow  rather  than  in  the  broad  light  of  common 
day.  But  if  the  characters  were  also  a  little  shadowy, 
as  became  the  scene  in  which  they  moved,  there  was 
strons:  and  livino:  emotion  behind  them — emotion  which 
seized  the  attention  and  held  it  as  by  a  spell,  while  the 
story  of  a  wild,  almost  barbarous  life,  and  of  the  most 
primitive  human  passion,  hurried  on.  The  very  primi- 
tiveness  of  the  passion  gave  an  impression  of  power 
which  studies  of  a  more  complex  order  lack.  Lysle 
felt  as  if  living  hearts  were  bleeding  and  breaking  be- 
fore him  ;  and  when  a  few  strong  touches  painted  the 
final  climax,  and  the  melancholy  forest  depths  seemed 
to  close  upon  a  tragedy  complete  and  simple  as  that  of 
the  Greek  dramatists,  he  let  the  sheet  fall  from  his  hand, 
and  sat  for  a  moment  staring  at  it. 

Perhaps  his  first  impulse  was  to  laugh  at  himself. 
He  remembered  how  he  had  talked  to  Miss  Churchill 
with  easy  patronage  of  her  "  power,"  little  reckoning 
on  such  power  as  was  here.  He  had  opened  her  manu- 
script, looking  for  little  of  artistic  value,  but  for  some 
interesting  revelations  of  herself,  and  almost  from  the 
first  line  he  had  been  compelled  to  forget  herself  in 
what  she  had  produced.  He  knew  that  this  was  the 
supreme  test  of  the  ability  of  the  creative  artist,  and  he 
longed  to  assure  her  of  a  triumph  in  which  she  could 
not  but  believe.  He  rose  from  his  chair ;  in  his  impa- 
tience he  felt  as  if  he  could  hardly  wait  for  the  morning 
in  order  to  say,  ''You  have  but  to  spread  your  wings 
and  fly  I"     There  was,  however,  nothing  to  do  at  pres- 


AMONG   TEE  PINES.  67 

ent  but  to  walk  over  to  the  window,  to  sit  clown  and 
light  a  cigar. 

It  was  after  midnight,  and  not  only  the  house  but 
the  whole  outer  world  was  wrapped  in  stillness.  Sil- 
ver radiance  flooded  everything,  for  the  moon  was  high 
in  the  heaven,  and  flung  her  light  broadly  over  the 
landscape,  steeped  in  the  quiet  of  night,  over  the  pines 
that  seemed  altogether  motionless  as  they  stood  in  dark 
relief  against  the  sky,  over  the  flowers  in  the  garden 
below,  and  over  the  valley  that  led  to  the  pond  among 
the  hills.  Lysle  thought  of  that  pond,  and  fancied  how 
the  light  fell  on  its  still  surface,  and  how  deep  were  the 
shadows  of  its  pine-clad  banks,  while  he  said  to  himself 
that  he  realized  now  more  clearly  than  before  how  the 
imprisoned  water,  reflecting  only  the  somber  trees  and 
the  distant  sky,  was  a  perfect  image  of  Cecil  Churchill's 
life.  How  was  that  life  to  be  set  free  ?  More  than  ever 
he  recognized  the  necessity  for  freedom,  for  the  high  cult- 
ure that  can  only  be  obtained  by  contact  with  the  world 
of  intellectual  thought  and  effort,  for  varied  experience 
and  knowledge  of  life.  All  this  was  essential,  if  the 
power  displayed  in  the  effort  which  had  moved  him  so 
strongly  was  ever  to  reach  its  full  development,  or  in- 
deed any  development  at  all.  "  The  prison  must  be 
opened  ! "  he  thought.     "  But  how  ? " 

It  was  a  question  more  easily  asked  than  answered ; 
and  he  sat  long,  taking  counsel  of  the  night  upon  it. 
And  was  it  the  night  which  whispered  a  solution  that 
stirred  his  pulses  strangely  ?  Should  he  stretch  out  his 
hand  and  offer  freedom,  coupled  with  a  bondage  that 
wider  knowledge  might  make  as  irksome  as  that  from 
which  he  opened  escape  ?     He  saw  all  that  was  implied 


68  ^ISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

in  this,  and  all  that  might  flow  from  it,  as  he  sat  motion- 
less, gazing  with  bright,  intent  eyes  into  the  distance. 
]S"o,  it  was  impossible — or  possible  only  as  a  last  resort. 
He  wanted  to  remove  the  fetters  that  bound  her  life, 
not  to  substitute  others  for  them ;  he  wanted  to  see  the 
unfolding  of  her  nature  and  her  powers  in  perfect  free- 
dom. After  that  had  been  accomplished,  then,  perhaps 
— but  here  he  paused  with  another  soft  inward  laugh. 
"  As  if  the  future  ever  fulfills  any  dream  that  we  are 
foolish  enough  to  make  concerning  it ! "  he  thought. 
"  Better  leave  it  alone.  I  shall  have  my  study,  in  any 
event ;  I  shall  see  what  change  her  nature  and  her  genius 
will  undergo  in  those  altered  conditions  which  must  be 
brought  about." 

The  long  meditation  finally  ended  in  his  returning 
to  the  table,  where  a  lamp  burned  and  the  scattered 
sheets  of  Cecil's  manuscript  lay.  There  he  opened  his 
writing-case,  and  began  a  letter.  It  proved  to  be  of 
considerable  length :  page  after  page  was  covered  by 
his  compact  handwriting  before  the  end  came.  Then 
he  folded,  inclosed,  and  addressed  it  to  "  La  Marchesa 
del  Ferrata,  Florence,  Italy."  After  that  he  went  to 
bed. 

The  first  distinct  thought  in  his  mind,  when  he 
opened  his  eyes  to  the  sunshine  the  next  morning,  was 
one  of  vexation  that  several  hours  must  elapse  before 
he  could  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  Cecil  alone. 
He  execrated  the  school  which  seemed  so  absurd  as 
connected  with  her ;  and  then  suddenly  the  recollection 
that  it  was  Saturday  flashed  upon  him,  and  brought 
comfort  in  its  train.  If  she  followed  the  ordinary  cus- 
tom of  giving  a  holiday  on  that  day,  he  might  be  able 


AMOXG   THE  PIN'ES.  69 

to  see  her  immediately  after  breakfast,  and  relieve  him- 
self of  all  that  he  was  so  eager  to  say. 

But  disappointment  is  a  good  discipline,  no  donbt, 
and,  in  the  hopes  which  he  indulged,  Mr.  Lysle  forgot 
that  Miss  Churchill  and  himself  were  not  tlie  inhabit- 
ants of  a  desert  island.  He  reckoned  entirely  without 
his  hosts — who,  he  soon  found,  were  to  be  taken  into 
consideration.  After  breakfast  Hugh  announced  that, 
instead  of  going  to  the  plantation,  he  had  business  in 
Oldfield  which  demanded  his  attention,  and  would 
Lysle  care  to  ride  there  with  him,  he  asked.  Lysle 
pleaded  indolence,  and  declined  ;  so  then  Mr.  Churchill 
decided  that  afternoon  would  do  as  well  as  morning  for 
his  business,  and  that  he,  too,  would  indulge  in  dolce 
far  niente.  He  lighted  a  cigar,  and  sat  down  on  the 
veranda,  where  Mrs.  Churchill  presently  appeared  with 
her  needlework.  Lysle  groaned  in  spirit  when  he  found 
himself  thus  encompassed.  What  was  he  to  do  ?  In 
common  decency  he  could  not  rush  away  from  these 
cordial  people  in  search  of  Cecil,  even  had  he  known 
where  to  find  her,  and  that  he  did  not  know.  She  had 
disappeared  after  breakfast  as  usual,  and,  although  he 
perceived  the  children  at  liberty,  and  knew,  therefore, 
that  she  was  not  in  school,  he  did  not  know  in  the  least 
where  else  she  might  be. 

All  of  this  impatience  was,  however,  confined  within 
his  own  breast.  There  was  no  sign  of  it  in  his  tranquil 
manner,  in  his  easy  speech,  or  in  the  attention  that  he 
gave  to  Hugh's  conversation  and  Mrs.  Churchill's  com- 
ments. Long  practice  had  enabled  him  to  preserve  this 
perfect  outward  composure  under  most  circumstances, 
and   at  present,  as   he   was   well  aware  what  he   de- 


70  MISS  CEUECEILL:    A  STUDY. 

sired  was  only  delayed.  Cecil  must  appear,  his  oppor- 
tunity must  come  after  a  while,  and,  this  being  so,  he 
could  listen  with  a  sufficient  degree  of  interest  to 
ChurchilFs  animated  description  of  the  political,  social, 
and  agricultural  state  of  tlie  country. 

But,  when  he  least  expected  it,  diversion  and  relief 
arrived.  Suddenly  an  open  carriage,  filled  with  ladies, 
drove  up  to  the  gate,  Mrs.  Churchill,  with  a  start,  cried, 
"  Oh,  there  are  the  Denhams ! "  and  Hugh,  throwing 
away  his  cigar,  went  to  meet  them.  Lysle  rose  also, 
and  moved  toward  the  window  that  opened  to  the  floor 
behind  him. 

"  Are  you  going  away,  Mr.  Lysle  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Churchill,  glancing  at  him.  "Pray,  don't!  I  know 
they  would  like  to  meet  you." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Lysle,  with  a  smile,  '^  but  I  do 
not  really  think  they  would.  I  do  not  feel  any  capa- 
bility of  proving  interesting  as  a  new  acquaintance — so 
early  in  the  day." 

"I  am  sure  they  would  think  you  interesting  at  any 
time;  but,  of  course,  I  will  not  insist.  Please  find 
Cecil,  though,  and  tell  her  that  she  must  come." 

"  With  pleasure,"  he  answered,  disappearing  with 
alacrity. 

Find  Cecil !  He  smiled  again  as  he  went  away, 
thinking  how  entirely  this  was  what  he  wished  to  do. 
But  where  was  he  to  find  her  ?  The  manner  in  which 
Mrs.  Churchill  spoke  seemed  to  imply  that  it  was  an 
easy  task ;  but  he  had  little  or  no  knowledge  of  Miss 
Churchill's  habits,  and  knew  not  where  to  turn.  He 
soon  encountered  one  of  the  children,  however,  who 
promptly  gave  the  desired  information. 


AM02^G   THE  PINES.  71 

"  Aunt  Cecil  ? "  said  Jack.  "  Oh,  yes,  I  know  where 
she  is.  She's  in  the  school-house,  down  there  at  the 
end  of  the  garden." 

A  small  finger  pointed  as  lie  spoke,  and  Ljsle,  fol- 
lowing it  with  his  eye,  perceived  a  building  half-buried 
in  green  vines.  It  occurred  to  him  that  perhaps  he 
ought  to  send  Jack  to  inform  Miss  Churchill  of  the 
demand  that  society  made  upon  her ;  but,  his  own  de- 
sires being  strongly  opposed  to  this,  he  decided  to  fol- 
low their  dictate,  and  so  took  his  way  along  the  garden 
paths  toward  the  small  house  that,  as  he  approached, 
more  clearly  revealed  itself  as  a  very  primitive  structure 
overrun  on  one  side  by  a  luxuriant  climbing  rose,  and 
on  the  other  by  yellow  jasmine.  Evidently  it  con- 
tained only  one  room ;  but  there  was  a  rustic  porch  at 
the  door,  and  into  this  he  stepped,  not  prepared  to  find 
the  door  itself  standing  open. 

It  was,  however,  wide  open,  and  he  looked  directly 
into  the  room  where  Cecil  sat  at  a  table  near  a  window, 
through  which  the  sunshine  fell,  throwing  flickering 
shadows  of  the  vines  upon  her.  At  the  sound  of  his 
step  she  looked  up,  and  her  surprise  had  no  need  of 
words  to  express  it.  He  answered  at  once  the  unspoken 
interrogation  of  her  glance. 

"  Forgive  me,  if  I  disturb  you.  My  excuse  is  that 
Mrs.  Churchill  bade  me  find  you,  and  tell  you  that  you 
are  wanted." 

''For  what?" 

"  For  the  fulfillment  of  a  social  duty.  Some  ladies 
have  just  arrived — their  name,  I  think,  is  Denham. 
You  are  wanted  to  see  them." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  speech,  Mr.  Lysle 


72  ^ISS  CHURCHILL:    A   STUDY, 

leaned  against  the  side  of  the  door  in  an  easy  attitude, 
and  looked  at  Miss  Churchill,  who  frowned. 

"  Why  should  I  be  wanted  to  see  them  ? "  she  asked. 
''  They  are  Nettie's  friends — she  knows  that  I  care 
nothing  about  them." 

"  If  one  only  saw  the  people  whom  one  cared  about — " 
observed  Lysle,  with  a  shrug  which  significantly  finished 
the  sentence.  "  But  that  is  nevertheless  what  I  hoped 
you  would  say,  for  I  want  very  much  to  see  you — more, 
I  am  sure,  than  the  ladies  in  question  possibly  can." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Cecil.  She  rose,  as  if  he  offered  her 
an  inducement  to  go  away  immediately.  "  I  suppose 
that  I  must  see  them,"  she  said. 

"  But  not  at  once,  surely  ?  "  said  Lysle.  "  They  will 
stay  some  time,  will  they  not  ?  People  who  visit  in  the 
country  mostly  do.  And  I  have  been  anxious  to  see 
you  ever  since — well,  ever  since  I  read  your  manuscript 
last  night.  It  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  go  to  bed 
without  telling  you  what  I  thought  of  it.  But  I  said 
to  myself,  '  In  the  morning.'  Yet  here  is  the  morning 
nearly  gone,  and  I  have  not  had  an  opportunity  to  tell 
you  anything !  Are  you  indifferent,  or  distrustful,  or 
regretful.  Miss  Churchill,  that  you  have  taken  such 
pains  not  to  give  me  the  opportunity  ? " 

"  I  have  taken  no  pains  at  all,"  she  said.  "  I  have 
simply  done  what  I  always  do — come  here  on  Saturday 
morning  to  look  over  and  correct  the  compositions  of 
the  children.  How  did  I  know  that  you  had  even  read 
mine  ? "  She  smiled  faintly  and  a  little  bitterly.  "  I 
wonder  if  it  did  not  seem  to  you  very  much  what 
these  " — she  pointed  to  the  blotted  pages  before  her — 
*•  seem  to  me  ?" 


AMONG   THE  FINES.  73 

"  How  is  it  possible  for  you  to  do  yourself  such  in- 
justice ! "  cried  he,  quickly.  "  If  you  were  not  you^  I 
should — " 

"  Doubt  my  sincerity  ? "  she  said,  as  he  paused. 
"  Well,  perhaps  I  deserve  that  you  should.  Self-dis- 
praise is  almost  as  bad  as  self-praise.  But,  if  you 
read  my  manuscript  last  night,  Mr.  Lysle,  I  spent  the 
night  on  a  bed  of  repentance  for  having  given  it  to 
you." 

"I  do  not  doubt  that,"  he  answered.  *^But  never 
was  repentance  more  misplaced.  And  now  I  must  ask 
a  question — Are  you  going  to  believe  what  I  tell  you  ? 
Have  you  confidence  in  my  judgment  and  in  my  sin- 
cerity ? " 

She  sank  back  in  her  chair,  and  looked  at  him  for 
a  moment  as  if  doubtful  what  to  answer.  Then  she 
said,  with  a  slight  increase  of  color:  "I  thought  we 
settled  that  yesterday.  Should  I  have  given  you  my 
manuscript  if  I  had  not  believed  in  your  sincerity  and 
your  judgment  ? " 

"Perhaps  you  believed  in  them  when  you  gave  me 
the  manuscript — at  least  I  hope  so.  But  what  were 
you  regretting  during  your  night  of  repentance,  if  it 
was  not  having  trusted  me  ?  " 

"Mr.  Lysle,"  she  said,  "you  cover  me  with  shame. 
I  have  never  doubted  your  good  intentions — not  for  a 
moment.  I  have  only  feared  that  your  kindness  might 
lead  you  to  disguise  the  truth  to  me.  I  can  see  that 
you  are  kind — you  would  dislike  to  say  a  disagreeable 
thing — and — so — and  so — " 

"  And  so  you  thought  that  I  would  break  my 
promise,  and  deceive  you  shamefully  in  order  to  say  a 


74  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

few  pleasant  things  ?  You  are  right,  Miss  Churchill : 
faith  is  not  jour  strong  point." 

There  was  something  appealing  in  her  eyes  as  she 
raised  them  to  his  face.  "I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  simply, 
"but  how  can  I  help  it?  Teach  me,  if  you  can,  to  be- 
lieve in  myself.  When  I  hear  you  speak,  I  already  be- 
lieve in  you." 

His  smile  showed  that  he  was  pleased.  "  Then," 
he  said,  "you  will  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  the  truth 
about  your  writing  ? " 

"  It  will  be  hard  to  believe,  if  you  praise  it — as  I 
almost  think  you  mean  to  do — but  I  will  try." 

He  made  a  slight  impatient  gesture.  "  There  is  to 
be  no  such  thing  as  praise — we  settled  that  some  time 
ago  ;  there  is  to  be  only  a  candid  opinion,  which  will 
be  none  the  less  candid  because  truth  compels  it  to  be 
favorable.     Miss  Churchill,  your  work  amazed  me." 

Despite  herself,  the  breath  came  quickly  on  her  lips. 
"  How  ? "  she  asked. 

"By  the  power  which  it  displays — much  greater 
power  than  I  had  expected  or  thought  possible.  I 
knew  that  you  possessed  mental  qualities  of  a  rare 
order ;  but  until  the  actual  test  is  made  one  can  never 
be  sure  of  the  productive  faculty.  Some  of  the  clever- 
est people  I  have  ever  known  lacked  it  altogether,  or, 
if  they  possessed  it  in  degree,  lacked  the  divine  spark, 
the  flash  of  fire  which  gives  it  value.  I  could  not  be 
sure — I  could  not  even  hazard  an  opinion — whether  or 
not  you  possessed  this,  until  I  had  your  writing  in  my 
hands.  I  thought  it  likely  that  you  did  possess  it — in 
an  undeveloped  form :  but  I  was  not  prepared  for  the 
development  I  found.     I  began  to  read  what  you  had 


AMOXG   TEE  FINES.  75 

writteu,  full  of  mj  interest  in  yourself;  but  it  was  not 
long  before  I  lost  sight  of  you  in  the  interest  roused 
by  your  work.  Do  you  understand  all  which  is  implied 
in  that  ? " 

She  bent  her  head.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and 
she  could  not  speak.  It  was  as  she  had  said — while  she 
listened  to  him  she  could  not  doubt  his  sincerity,  and 
his  words  of  praise,  with  the  ring  of  critical  authority 
which  gave  them  value,  seemed  to  fill  her  veins  like  a 
strong  cordial.  Her  despair  had,  after  all,  been  but 
the  revulsion  from  a  great  hope,  and  the  rebound  was 
therefore  altogether  possible.  He  divined  her  emotion 
as  he  had  divined  so  nmch  else  with  regard  to  her,  and 
went  on  speaking  more  easily  and  lightly : 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  your  work  is  faultless. 
You  would  be  ris^ht  not  to  believe  me  if  I  said  so.  It 
has  many  faults  of  manner  and  style.  But  these  will 
be  readily  overcome  by  study.  The  essential  things, 
which  no  study  can  give,  are  there  :  the  power  to  seize 
and  present  vividly  certain  types  of  human  nature  and 
phases  of  human  life ;  the  dramatic  instinct  which  tells 
you  where  to  make  a  point  and  when  it  is  made ;  the 
insight  into  human  feeling  and  the  ability  to  interpret 
it.  Forgive  me,"  he  broke  off  suddenly  with  his  soft 
laugh,  "if  I  am  taking  an  odiously  professional  tone, 
and  talking  like  a  review.  But  that  is  what  I  would 
say  if  I  were  giving  in  cold  blood  and  black  print  my 
opinion.  Miss  ChurchilL" 

She  looked  at  him  now  with  a  grateful  smile.  "  I 
thouglit  I  should  find  it  hard  to  believe  you,  Mr.  Lysle," 
she  said,  ''but  you  make  it  very  easy.  How  can  one 
refuse  to  believe  what  is  so  kind,  so  pleasant  ?     Yet, 


T6  MISS  CEURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

after  all,  wliy  should  I  be  glad  to  know  that  I  possess 
these  powers?  They  need  a  wide  field  in  which  to 
develop,  and  I " — she  glanced  aronnd  the  room  in  which 
she  sat — "I  am  in  prison." 

"  Prisons  have  doors.  I  told  you  that  profound 
truth  within  half  an  hour  of  our  first  meeting." 

"  And  I  told  you  that  mine  was  an  exception." 

"  Then  we  will  make  a  door.  There  is  no  good  in 
shaking  your  head;  you  have  no  idea  of  the  energy 
and  the  obstinacy  which  I  can  display  on  occasion. 
And  I  have  never  known  an  occasion  that  called  for 
those  qualities  more  than  this.  That  you  should  spend 
the  bright  years  of  your  youth — those  years  in  which 
you  should  be  garnering  a  thousand  impressions  and 
experiences  for  use  in  your  art — pent  in  a  place  like 
this,  is  out  of  the  question ! " 

He  spoke  indignantly,  and  she  answered  him  with 
a  sad  little  laugh.  "You  are  very  good  to  take  so 
much  interest,"  she  said,  *'  but  you  forget,  or  do  not 
understand,  many  things.  I  can  not  explain  them  to 
you  just  now,  for  yonder  is  a  messenger  who,  my  pro- 
phetic soul  tells  me,  is  coming  to  summon  me  again  to 
see  the  Denhams." 

Lysle  looked  around.  The  slim,  chocolate-colored 
youth,  with  whom  he  had  by  this  time  an  amicable 
acquaintance,  was  advancing  leisurely  down  the  garden- 
path.  When  he  reached  the  porch,  he  paused  with 
one  foot  on  the  step,  and  spoke : 

"  Miss  Cecil,  Miss  Nettie  says  the  ladies  axed  for 
you  particular,  and  you  mus'  come." 

"  Yery  well,  Jasper,"  answered  Cecil,  with  a  slight 
sigh.     "  Say  that  I  will  be  there  in  a  few  minutes." 


AMOITG   THE  PINES.  77 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  began  to  put  away  the 
blurred  pages  she  had  been  correcting.  This  done,  she 
looked  at  Ljsle,  who  was  watching  her  from  the  door. 

"  How  shamefully  inhospitable  I  have  been  not  to 
ask  you  in  and  give  you  a  chair ! "  she  said.  "  And 
now  it  is  too  late,  if  I  have  to  go  and  see  those  Den- 
hams.  That  is  so  often  the  case  with  me— I  forget,  or 
do  not  realize,  what  should  be  done  until  it  is  too  late 
to  do  it." 

"  I  hope  your  conscience  may  never  reproach  you 
for  a  more  important  omission,"  he  said.  '^  I  preferred 
my  position  to  any  that  you  could  have  given  me." 

And,  indeed,  he  felt  that,  during  the  time  he  stood 
there,  a  picture  had  been  painted  in  his  memory,  to 
serve  as  a  companion  to  other  pictures  of  Cecil  Church- 
ill, that  he  would  not  soon  forget.  Side  by  side  with 
the  silent  water  and  the  solemn  pines  he  w^ould  see  this 
rustic  school-room — the  narrow  frame  of  a  figure  so 
unsuited  to  it ;  he  would  see  the  waving  shadows  of 
the  vines  falling  over  her  graceful  head,  and  the  quick 
light  of  awakening  life  in  her  eyes  as  she  lifted  them 
to  his  own. 


CHAPTEK  YII. 

It  was  not  until  late  afternoon  that  Ljsle  found  an 
opportunity  to  continue  his  interrupted  conversation 
with  Miss  Churchill.  But  he  was  not  troubled  by  im- 
patience in  the  interval.  He  had  gained  enough  to 
assure  him  of  all  the  rest  that  he  wished  to  gain,  and 
it  lay  before  him  as  a  reserved  pleasure  which  would 
lose  nothing  by  delay.  He  bore  his  part,  therefore, 
admirably  in  entertaining  the  Misses  Denham,  who 
were  easily  persuaded  to  remain  to  dinner ;  and,  after 
their  departure — which  took  place  in  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon — he  quietly  retired  to  the  hammock  to  await 
the  hour  when  Cecil  would  go  to  walk,  for  he  had 
learned  that  this  was  her  invariable  habit. 

Cecil,  on  her  part,  was  by  no  means  disposed  to 
change  her  habit.  If  Lysle  found  pleasure  in  the  study 
of  a  new  character  and  contact  with  a  fresh  mind,  it 
was,  after  all,  slight  compared  with  her  pleasure  in  as- 
sociation with  one  who  opened  to  her  all  the  world  of 
thought  and  knowledge  into  which  she  had  so  long  de- 
sired to  enter.  She  had  enjoyed  this  from  the  first, 
and,  if  there  had  been  a  slight  shrinking  back — the  re- 
vulsion inevitable  to  a  sensitive  nature — after  he  had 
in  a  manner  forced  her  confidence,  that  had  been  dis- 
sipated by  their  conversation  of  the  morning.     She  had 


AMONG   THE  PINES.  Y9 

now  no  sense  of  reluctance  in  the  thought  of  the  teU- 
d-tete  before  her. 

He  saw  this  plainly  in  her  expression — for  her  face 
had  by  this  time  few  secrets  from  him — when  he  joined 
her,  and  they  followed  one  of  the  roads  leading  into 
the  forest.  As  the  solemn  woods  closed  around  them 
with  their  monotony  and  their  charm,  he  said,  with  a 
glance  into  the  shadowy  depths  : 

"  I  wonder  if  you  have  any  idea  of  how  well  you 
have  succeeded  in  presenting  not  only  the  aspect  but 
the  spirit  of  all  this  I  Your  pages  seem  steeped  in  the 
color  and  the  odor  of  the  pines." 

She  smiled.  "  It  would  be  strange  if  they  were  not. 
/am  steeped  in  the  pines,"  she  said. 

"Ah!"  he  answered,  "you  do  not  understand  how 
little  that  has  to  do  with  it ;  how  few  of  those  who  are 
capable  of  feeling  an  impression  are  capable  also  of  pre- 
senting it,  so  that  others  shall  feel  it  through  their 
words." 

She  looked  around  her.  "How  could  one  fail  to 
paint  this  ? "  she  said.  "  It  is  so  strong  it  seizes  upon 
one,  and  it  is  so  unlike  anything  else.  There  are  some 
aspects  of  J^ature  of  which  a  careless  person  might  be 
unobservant ;  but  the  pines  are  like  the  ocean — no  one 
can  be  insensible  to  their  influence." 

"  You  have  indicated  that  with  a  very  true  touch. 
The  characters  you  have  drawn  are  influenced  by  their 
Bun-onndings,  though  they  do  not  know  or  suspect  it. 
Did  instinct  or  did  observation  tell  you  that  ? " 

"  Both,  I  think.  I  have  observed  it,  and  instinct 
told  me  more  than  I  observed.  Perhaps — for  I  must 
be  quite  honest — the  influence  may  be  heightened  a 


80  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY, 

little  for  artistic  effect.     One  does  such  things  uncon- 
sciously." 

"  It  is  a  part  of  the  artistic  impulse — of  that  artistic 
insight  which  sees  so  much,"  said  Ljsle.  *'The  artist 
who  describes  no  more  than  lies  on  the  surface  is  like 
one  who  substitutes  the  camera  for  the  pencil  and  brush. 
He  is  no  true  artist  if  he  does  not  feel  that  there  is  more 
than  is  revealed,  and  if  the  power  which  w^e  call  genius 
does  not  help  him  to  realize  and  interpret  it.  But  why 
should  I  say  this  to  you,  Miss  Churchill  ?  You  have 
avoided  both  the  Scylla  and  the  Charybdis  of  most 
young  writers — unreality  on  the  one  hand,  bald  realism 
on  the  other.     Your  artistic  instinct  is  never  at  fault." 

She  glanced  at  him  gratefully. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said,  "if  you  can  imagine  what 
your  praise  is  to  me?  While  I  listen  to  you,  I  can  not 
doubt  its  sinceritv,  and  it  is  like  water  to  one  who  has 
been  travelino*  throus^h  a  desert." 

The  emotion  of  her  tone  touched  him.  "I  wish 
that  I  could  say  something  that  would  impress  you  with 
a  trust  in  my  sincerity  when  you  are  not  listening  to 
me,"  he  answered  ;  "  for  that  is  most  important.  I 
am  glad  to  give  you  pleasure ;  but  to  give  you  pleasure 
is  bv  no  means  the  chief  end  that  I  have  in  view.  I 
want  you  to  fulfill  the  promise  that  lies  in  your  powers  ; 
and  in  order  to  do  this,  you  must  have  faith  enough 
in  me  to  suffer  me  to  direct  you  in  a  degree." 

"  I  have  faith  in  your  judgment,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
shall  be  grateful  for  your  advice — about  my  work." 

"You  will  think  me  presumptuous,  perhaps,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  want  you  to  permit  me  to  advise  you  about 
your  life  as  well  as  about  your  work." 


AMOXG   THE  PINES.  81 

SLe  regarded  him  witli  some  surprise.  "  Then  jou 
have  not  yet  understood  that  my  life  is  hopelessly  fixed 
in  very  narrow  limits,  imless  these  powers,  which  you 
tell  me  I  possess,  can  open  a  door  for  me  where  no 
door  has  seemed  possible  \  " 

"  I  think  I  understand  perfectly,"  he  replied  ;  "  but 
what  I  have  to  beg  of  you  is,  that  you  will  not  use  your 
powers  until  you  have  gained  much  more  knowledge 
and  experience  of  life  than  you  now  possess." 

"But  surely  you  must  see  the  dilemma  in  which 
you  would  place  me  !  I  can  not  gain  more  knowledge 
and  experience  of  life  without  going  into  the  world, 
and  I  can  not  go  into  the  world  unless  my  own  powers 
open  the  way  for  me." 

"I  am  not  so  stupid  as  you  imagine,"  said  Lysle. 
"  I  realize  the  dilemma ;  but  there  may  be  a  way  out 
of  it  which  you  do  not  perceive.  Will  ycu  not  trust 
me  for  a  little  while,  until  I  can  tell  you  what  it  is  ? " 

There  was  more  distrust  than  trust  in  the  eves  which 
met  his  own.  "  There  is  no  other  way  possible,"  she 
said.  "  In  what  you  have  told  me,  in  the  encourage- 
ment you  have  given,  you  have  done  much  for  me. 
But  there  is  nothing  further  in  your  power  to  do." 

"  I  know  that  you  think  so,"  he  replied,  alive  to  all 
the  proud  inflection  of  her  tone.  '*  But  will  you  not 
reserve  your  judgment  for  a  short  time — until  I  can  lay 
my  plans  before  you  ?  That  is  not  much  to  ask,  since 
you  will  be  free  to  reject  them." 

"  But,  Mr.  Lvsle— " 

"But,  Miss  Churchill,  you  promised  to  have  a  little 
faith  in  me.  !N"ow  is  the  time  for  its  exercise.  I  shall 
not  keep  you  in  suspense  very  long.     And — you  may 


82  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

be  sure  of  this — I  shall  propose  nothing  which  your 
father's  daughter  need  for  an  instant  hesitate  to  do." 

"  I  did  not  fear  that,"  she  said,  flushing  a  little.  "I 
feared —  But  it  does  not  matter.  I  will  trust  you. 
I  do  not  think  that  you  will — make  a  mistake." 

"  I  hope  that  I  shall  not,"  said  Lysle,  gravely. 

They  walked  on  silently  for  a  few  minutes,  their 
footsteps  falling  almost  soundlessly  on  the  pine-straw. 
Before  them  the  great  forest  stretched  away  into  ob- 
scurity, while  a  faint  breeze  stirred  the  tree-tops  into 
the  murmur  of  the  sea.  It  was  Lysle  who  presently 
spoke : 

"  Will  you  forgive  me  if  I  ask  a  very  personal  ques- 
tion :  Have  you  many  friends?  I  do  not  mean  ac- 
quaintances, more  or  less  intimate,  but  friends  in  the 
true  sense  of  the  term." 

"  What  is  a  friend  '  in  the  true  sense  of  the  term '  ?  " 
she  asked,  with  a  faint  smile.  "  I  must  beg  you  to  de- 
fine it,  else  I  might  make  a  mistake  in  my  answer." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly.  '•  There  are 
many  definitions  that  I  might  give,  but  perhaps  the 
supreme  tests  are  sympathy  and  service.  A  friend  in 
the  sense  I  mean  is  one  to  whom  you  would  not  hesitate 
to  speak  your  inmost  thoughts,  secure  at  least  of  com- 
prehension, and  of  whom  you  would  demand  any  serv- 
ice in  his  or  her  power  to  render." 

"  And  you  ask  me  if  I  have  many  such  friends ! " 
she  said,  in  a  tone  of  wonder.  "  The  world  must  be  a 
different  place  from  what  I  have  imagined  it  if  any  one 
has  tnany.     As  for  me,  I  have  none." 

"  ]S'ot  one.  Miss  Churchill  ? " 

"]^ot  one,  Mr.  Lysle.    Perhaps" — after  an  instant's 


AMONG   THE  PINES.  83 

pause — "you  think  I  should  count  you.  But  that  is 
not  possible.  One  does  not  make  such  a  friend  in  a 
week." 

Lysle  smiled.  "  One  might  make  such  a  friend  in 
a  week,"  he  said,  "  but  it  would  be  too  much  to  ask 
that  he  should  be  recognized.  Believe  me,  I  was  not 
thinking  of  myself  at  all.  I  wondered  if  you  had  such 
a  friend  among  those  whom  you  have  known  much 
longer  than  a  week." 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  have  some  old  friends — 
in  the  ordinary  sense — who  are  attached  to  me,  and  to 
whom  I  am  attached,  but  they  are  very  far  from  being 
what  you  mean.  Tiiey  know  my  life  only  on  its  sur- 
face, and  could  have  no  sympathy  with  anything  else. 
Indeed,  it  would  never  occur  to  me  to  hint  of  the  ex- 
istence of  anything  else  to  them." 

Again  Lysle  was  silent  for  a  moment.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  never  known  a  sadder  case  of  men- 
tal and  spiritual  isolation  ;  and  the  desire  to  see  how 
this  nature  would  expand  in  another  atmosphere,  be- 
gan to  yield  to  a  more  personal  desire  to  remove  the 
fetters  that  weighed  upon  it.  He  was  fast  losing  sight 
of  the  gratification  of  his  own  interest,  in  thinking  of 
Cecil  herself. 

"  Perhaps  I  should  apologize  for  my  question,"  he 
said  at  length,  "  but  I  w^ondered  if  there  was  any  one — 
and  I  was  thinking  of  a  woman  whose  life  has  been 
the  exact  opposite  of  your  own.  I  believe  that  you 
might  make  a  friend  of  her  if  you  knew  her." 

Miss  Churchill  looked  doubtful.  Like  most  clever 
women  in  a  narrow  life,  she  had  not  formed  a  very 
high  opinion  of  her  own  sex.     But  she  did  not  com- 


84:  MISS  CHUB  CHILL:    A  STUDY. 

mit  herself  to  an  expression  of  tliis  opinion ;  she  only 
said,  "  Who  is  she  ? " 

^'  The  answer  to  that  question  is  tolerably  long. 
She  is,  to  begin  with,  of  very  mixed  nationality.  Her 
father  was  a  Greek,  her  mother  an  Englishw^oman — a 
distant  relative  of  my  own — and  she  is  the  widow  of 
an  Italian  marchese.  She  is  very  wealthy,  she  is  in- 
tellectual, she  has  always  lived  in  one  or  the  other  of 
the  capitals  of  Europe,  and  taken  her  place  in  what  is 
known  as  '  the  great  world ' ;  but  she  is  devoted  to 
letters  and  to  art,  and  her  salon  is  a  resort  of  the  clever- 
est men  of  the  day.  Do  you  not  think  you  could 
make  a  friend  of  such  a  woman  as  that,  Miss  Church- 
ill ? " 

"  I !  "  said  Cecil.  Her  eyes,  as  she  looked  at  him, 
were  dark  with  pain.  "  What  could  I  have  in  common 
with  her  ?  Are  you  trying  to  make  me  feel  the  ab- 
surdity of  my  asj)irations,  Mr.  Lysle  ?  " 

"  God  forbid  !  "  he  cried,  hastily.  "  Why  do  you 
misunderstand  me  so  ?  I  mean  exactly  what  I  say :  do 
you  not  think  that  of  such  a  woman  you  could  make  a 
friend  ? " 

"Friendship  means  equality,  or  it  means  nothing. 
How  could  such  a  woman  make  a  friend  of  me  f  " 

"  Miss  Churchill,  are  you  really  so  ignorant  of  what 
you  are?  The  marchesa  would  discern  you  at  once. 
An  intellectual  woman  herself,  she  delights  to  meet  in- 
tellect in  others ;  a  sympathetic  woman,  she  appreciates 
sympathy  as  the  rare  and  precious  gift  that  it  is  ;  and, 
though  a  woman  of  the  world,  she  is  as  simple  and 
spontaneous  as  a  child,  I  am  sure  that  you  would  be 
friends." 


AMOXG   TEE  PINES,  85 

"  Perhaps  so  ;  but  it  is  liardly  wortli  while  to  specu- 
late on  what  might  follow  the  meeting  of  two  people 
whose  lives  are  set  as  far  apart  as  it  is  possible  for 
lives  to  be.  Can  vou  not  find  another  subject,  Mr. 
Lvsle  ?  I  am  not  envious  of  your  marchesa :  I  am  really 
glad  that  there  should  be  a  woman  so  fortunate ;  but 
contrast  with  her  life  seems  to  make  the  hopelessness 
of  mine  more  apparent,  and  so  it  depresses  me." 

"  I  would  not  willingly  depress  you,"  said  Lysle, 
"  therefore  we  will  certainly  change  the  subject." 

He  promptly  changed  it ;  but  Cecil's  thoughts  for 
once  did  not  follow  him.  They  hovered  with  a  species 
of  fascination  about  the  idea  of  the  woman  who  had 
everything  that  she  lacked — this  beautiful  (she  supposed 
that  she  was  beautiful)  marchesa,  with  her  wealth,  her 
cleverness,  and  her  high  social  position.  The  girl's 
heart  sank  within  her.  It  was  not  envy,  as  she  had 
said,  but  only  that  the  sunshine  of  this  life  made  the 
shadow  of  her  own  seem  deeper ;  and,  let  Lysle  say 
what  he  would,  she  felt  that  there  was  little  hope  that 
the  walls  which  inclosed  her  would  ever  open,  that  wider 
opportunities  would  ever  be  granted  her. 

But  such  a  mood  was  naturallv  not  lastino^.  It 
yielded  to  the  influence  of  Lysle's  companionship,  of 
his  subtile  sympathy,  and  of  the  encouragement  which 
he  conveyed  indirectly  as  well  as  directly.  Kature  had 
been  a  true  fairy  godmother  in  bestowing  upon  him 
many  gifts,  but  none  which  had  served  him  better  than 
his  power  of  throwing  himself  into  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  of  others.  As  time  went  on,  he  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  gratifying  his  desire  to  study  Miss  Churchill, 

for,  her  reserve  once  conquered,  she  met  his  interest 
8 


86  MISS  CHUECEILL:    A  STUDY. 

with  a  frankness  that  knew  nothing  of  caprice.  He 
felt  that  her  mind  was  open  to  him  ;  that  there  was  no 
corner  of  it  into  which  he  was  not  privileged  to  look. 
Her  opinions,  her  tastes,  her  desires — he  could  examine 
and  sift  them  all,  and  there  was  no  intellectual  ground 
upon  which  she  was  not  able  to  meet  him  with  the 
clearest  intelligence.  In  their  long  conversations  upon 
literature,  and  all  the  fields  of  thought  and  speculation 
that  open  from  it,  there  was  a  sense  of  camaraderie 
which  sometimes  astonished  him  ;  for,  although  it  had 
chanced  to  him  before  to  enjoj  intellectual  companion- 
ship with  a  woman,  it  had  never  chanced  to  liim  to  meet 
one  who  seemed  so  thoroughly  at  home  in  the  some- 
what rarefied  atmosphere  of  the  mind,  or  who  gave  so 
little  thouglit  to  her  womanhood  and  the  charm  derived 
from  it.  He  said  to  himself  that  the  emotional  side  of 
her  nature  was  dormant,  and  that  it  was  not  her  mind 
alone  but  her  whole  nature  that  would  expand  when 
once  the  fetters  were  lifted  from  her  life. 

In  this  companionship,  so  full  of  interest  to  both, 
the  days — soft,  golden  days  of  autumn — went  on,  until 
suddenly  Lysle  roused  himself  to  the  realization  that, 
if  he  meant  to  carry  out  certain  plans  which  he  had 
formed,  he  must  go.  He  did  not  announce  this  decis- 
ion, however,  until  he  found  himself  alone  with  Cecil. 
It  was  evening,  and  they  were  watching  the  sunset 
from  one  of  the  gentle  eminences  of  the  valley  which 
led  to  the  pond  among  the  hills.  It  was  one  of  those 
sunsets  peculiar  to  the  pine-lands,  when  all  that  is  bar- 
ren becomes  glorious,  and  all  that  is  gloomy  radiant 
through  the  magic  of  a  splendor  that  fills  earth,  air,  and 
sky.     The  west  was  like  a  great  altar,  on  which  sacri- 


AMOITG   THE  PmES.  87 

ficial  fires  were  kindled  that  streamed  upward  even  to 
the  zenith,  and  were  reflected  in  softest  tints  of  rose 
and  lilac  upon  the  eastern  sky.  The  pines  on  the  op- 
posite ridge  lifted  their  spear-like  crests  against  the 
background  of  vivid  gold  and  flame-like  scarlet  with  an 
air  of  solemn  majesty,  and  above  them  the  evening  star 
began  to  gleam  like  a  great  diamond  out  of  the  roseate 
effulgence.  The  two  who  were  watching  this  pomp 
had  been  silent  for  some  time,  as  only  those  who  know 
each  other  intimately  can  be  silent  together.  It  was 
Lysle  who  spoke  at  length,  somewhat  abruptly. 

''  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  that  it  is  three  weeks 
this  evening  since  I  arrived,  and  we  took  our  first  walk 
together  ? " 

Cecil  turned  her  eves  from  the  clouds  and  looked 
at  him  with  a  smile.  "No,"  she  answered,  "I  have 
not  thought  of  the  lapse  of  time  at  all.  But  it  appears 
to  me  much  longer  than  three  weeks." 

"  I  am  exceedingly  flattered." 

"  You  have  reason  to  be,  though  I  know  that  remark 
does  not  sound  very  flattering.  It  appears  long  to  me, 
because  I  have  received  such  a  number  of  new  impres- 
sions since  you  have  been  here.  I  hardly  seem  to  my- 
self the  same  person  that  I  was  when  I  met  you  that 
first  afternoon." 

"How  are  you  changed?"  he  asked,  with  a  quick 
glance. 

"  It  is  rather  hard  to  define,"  she  answered  ;  "  but  I 
feel  the  difference,  as  if  a  door  had  opened  in  my  life, 
through  whicb  I  have  a  glimpse  of  the  outer  world,  of 
which  I  had  only  dreamed  before.  Then  I  was  so  hope- 
less, and  you  have  given  me  hope.     I  have  a  sense  that 


88  ^J'SS  CHUECEILL:   A  STUDY. 

my  power  is  doubled,  since  somebody  believes  in  it.  I 
did  not  believe  in  it  myself  when  you  came." 

He  smiled.  "  It  was  a  strange  and  happy  chance 
that  led  my  feet  here,"  he  said. 

"  Strange — yes.  But  happy — "  She  paused,  and 
looked  back  again  at  the  sunset.  "  Perhaps  w^e  had 
better  wait  a  little  before  we  decide  on  that.  If  I  fail, 
after  all—" 

*'You  will  not  fail,"  he  said,  confidently.  "But 
you  must  not  be  in  haste.  I  am  to  lay  a  plan  before 
you,  you  know,  and  you  have  promised  to  trust  me." 

"  How  absolute  must  the  trust  be  ? "  she  asked,  lift- 
ing her  eyebrows  a  little.  "  Your  plan  seems  long  in 
maturing." 

"  Yes,  but  it  will  now  soon  be  matured.  Have  pa- 
tience. A  few  wrecks  at  farthest  w^ill  end  the  suspense. 
Meanwhile,  I  am  going  away,  so  you  will  be  relieved 
of  my  presence  until  I  can  lay  everything  before 
you." 

She  looked  stai-tled  rather  than  relieved  at  present. 
"Are  you  going  away  indeed?"  she  said.  "It  seems 
very  soon.  From  that  point  of  view  I  do  not  find  the 
three  weeks  long  at  all.  And  Hugh  will  be  sorry — we 
shall  all  be  sorry." 

"  You  are  very  kind.  I  am  sorry,  too — exceedingly 
sorry — to  think  of  going.  But  when  I  turned  my  face 
southward,  I  meant  to  go  at  least  as  far  as  Texas,  and 
if  I  am  to  accomplish  that  intention,  I  can  not  delay 
longer,  since  I  must  be  back  in  England  by  a  certain 
time.  I  will  leave  to-morrow,  and  in  two  or  three 
weeks,  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  return  and  spend  a 
few  days  here  before  my  final  departure." 


AMONG   THE  PINES.  89 

"  You  must  know  that  we  shall  be  delighted  to  see 
you  whenever  you  can  return,"  she  answered. 

They  were  silent  then  for  a  few  minutes.  Some  of 
the  sunset  illumination  had  burned  itself  out,  but  the 
colors  that  lingered  on  the  sky  were  even  more  beauti- 
ful than  those  which  had  faded.  Lysle  found  himself 
looking  at  a  band  of  cleai',  tender  aquamarine,  while  he 
wondered  what  change,  if  any,  there  was  in  the  expres- 
sion of  Cecil's  voice  as  she  uttered  those  last  words  and 
the  expression  of  her  voice  when  she  had  bidden  him 
welcome  three  weeks  before.  Cecil,  on  her  part,  look- 
ing at  the  same  emerald  space,  appeared  to  herself  to 
be  looking  into  the  blankness  which  life  would  pre- 
sent after  this  new  and  stimulating  companionship  had 
passed  out  of  it.  The  three  weeks  that  had  been  filled 
with  the  association  of  this  man  of  letters  and  of  the 
world  formed  an  epoch  in  her  life.  That  life  could 
not  sink  back  into  its  old  hopeless  monotony,  for  he 
had  given  her  both  hope  and  faith ;  but  how  she  would 
miss  his  presence,  his  conversation,  full  of  everything 
that  she  most  wished  to  know,  and  the  interest  with 
which  he  had  filled  the  waste  places  of  her  exist- 
ence ! 

"When  Mr.  Churchill  heard  of  his  friend's  intended 
departure,  he  was  vexed  and  derisive. 

"  Go  to  Texas ! "  he  said.  "  Why  on  earth  should 
you  want  to  go  to  Texas  ?  You  will  find  nothing  to 
interest  you  there." 

"I  think  that  I  shall,"  Lysle  answered.  "I  have  a 
friend  who  has  lately  settled  there,  and  who  begs  me 
to  come  and  see  him.  His  ^ ranch' — do  you  call  it? — 
is  somewhere  in  the  middle  of  the  State." 


00  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  Considering  the  size  of  Texas,  I  Lope  you  know 
liis  whereabout  somewhat  more  definitely  than  that." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  have  only  to  consult  his  last  letter  to 
find  out  exactly  where  he  is.  I  shall  do  that  when  I 
get  to  New  Orleans." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  one  should  not  be  grasping,"  said 
Mrs.  Churchill.  "  We  ought  to  be  willing  for  you  to 
give  the  same  pleasure  to  your  friend  that  you  have 
given  us.  But  you  must  promise  that  we  shall  see  you 
again — that  you  will  not  cheat  us  by  taking  some  other 
route  in  order  to  see  more  of  the  country,  and  leaving 
us  in  the  lurch  on  your  return." 

"  I  promise  most  solemnly  that  no  route  shall  tempt 
me,  save  the  route  that  leads  to  Oldfield,"  said  Lysle. 
Involuntarily  he  looked  at  Cecil  as  he  said  this,  and 
Mrs.  Churchill,  seeing  the  look,  was  satisfied. 


CHAPTEE  YIII. 

Three  weeks  Lad  passed  since  Lysle's  departure — 
weeks  which  Cecil  found  lon^  in  a  different  manner 
from  the  three  weeks  of  his  stay — and  no  word  came 
from  him  to  the  household  among  the  pines.  Mrs. 
Churchill  began  to  wonder  when  he  would  return,  and 
was  exceedingly  vexed  with  her  husband,  who  said, 
easily,  that  he  should  not  be  surprised  if  he  did  not  re- 
turn at  all. 

"You  have  not  much  confidence  in  the  word  of 
your  friend,"  she  replied.  "  He  promised  that  he  would 
come  back." 

"  Oh,  I've  no  doubt  he  meant  to  come  back — when 
he  was  here,"  Hugh  answered ;  "  but  now  that  he  is 
away  something  else  will  interest  him,  and  he'll  be  led 
in  another  direction.  Perhaps  he  will  go  to  Cuba,  or 
to  Mexico.     That  would  be  just  like  him." 

"  If  he  went  to — Patagonia,  I  am  sure  he  would  re- 
turn here  !  "  said  Mrs.  Churchill.  Then  she  added,  as 
if  in  explanation,  "  Hugh,  you  are  awfully  stupid  !  " 

"Yery  likely,  my  dear,"  replied  Plugh,  calmly. 
"How  does  the  stupidity  exhibit  itself  just  now?" 

"  Why,  in  not  perceiving  that  Mr.  Lysle  was  very 
much  attracted  by  Cecil." 

Hugh  justified  the  charge  of  stupidity  by  staring 


92  MISS  CnURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

broadly  for  a  moment.  "  I  certainly  did  not  perceive 
anything  of  the  kind,"  he  said;  "and  really,  Kettie,  I 
think  you  must  be  mistaken.  AYomen  are  apt  to  fancy 
such  things ;  but  a  man  who  has  seen  as  much  of  the 
world  as  Lysle  would  not  be  easily  attracted — at  least 
not  by  a  girl  as  peculiar  as  Cecil." 

"  He  admires  her  very  much,  peculiarity  and  all," 
said  Mrs.  Churchill.  "  He  thinks  her  beautiful.  He 
told  me  so.  But  I  do  not  expect  you  to  believe  me." 
Hugh  was  shaking  his  head.  *'  I  only  want  you  to  un- 
derstand that  he  vnll  come  hack^ 

The  tone  in  which  these  words  were  uttered  closed 
the  discussion ;  for,  like  some  other  men,  Hugh  had 
found  that  it  was  quite  useless  to  argue  with  a  settled 
impression  of  his  wife's.  Events  would  prove  her  either 
right  or  wrong.  H  right,  she  was  moderate  in  triumph ; 
if  wrong,  she  had  generally  candor  enough  to  acknowl- 
edge as  mucli.  He  smiled  to  himseK  with  a  pleasant 
sense  of  superiority,  and  thought  that  he  would  wait 
for  time  to  prove  her  wrong  in  the  present  instance. 

But  time  was  not  long  in  proving  her  right,  at  least 
as  far  as  her  belief  in  Lysle's  return  was  concerned. 
Hugh  came  in  with  rather  a  significant  smile  on  his 
face  one  day,  and  threw  down  a  letter.  "  Your  faith 
in  Bernard  is  justified,"  he  observed  to  his  wife.  "  This 
is  a  letter  saying  that  he  will  be  here  next  week." 

There  was  a  flash  of  satisfaction  in  Mrs.  Churchill's 
glance,  but  she  only  said,  quietly,  "  I  knew  that  he  would 
come,"  as  she  took  up  the  letter  and  opened  it. 

Lysle  wrote  that  he  hoped  to  be  in  Oldtield  early 
the  next  week,  but  was  unable  to  say  on  what  day.  He 
would  telegraph  from  [New  Orleans  to  let  Hugh  know 


AMOKG   THE  PINES.  93 

when  to  expect  liim.  He  was  still  in  Texas,  and  had 
made  a  pleasant  excursion  into  Mexico ;  he  would  have 
liked  to  give  more  time  to  that  interesting  country,  but 
was  forced  to  set  his  face  homeward.  A  few  days  were 
all  that  he  could  promise  himself  with  his  friends  in 
the  pine-lands,  but  nothing  would  induce  him  to  forego 
that  pleasure. 

''  I  was  very  sure  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Churchill,  as  she 
handed  the  letter  to  Cecil,  who  received  and  read  it 
without  comment.  To  herself  she  said  that  she,  too, 
had  been  sure.  The  want  of  faith,  of  which  she  had 
accused  herself,  had  been  vanquished  as  far  as  Lysle 
was  concerned.  She  had  never  entertained  the  least 
doubt  of  his  return.  He  had  told  her  that  he  would 
do  so,  and  tliat  he  would  then  submit  to  her  the  plan 
of  which  he  had  spoken.  She  did  not  allow  herself  to 
build  any  hopes  upon  this  vaguely  defined  plan,  but  she 
had  a  natural  curiosity  to  learn  what  it  would  be. 

Five  or  six  days  passed,  however,  without  further 
news  of  the  expected  guest ;  then  came  the  promised 
telegram,  announcing  that  he  would  be  in  Oldfield  the 
next  day.  The  train  on  w^hich  he  would  arrive  was 
due  in  the  morning,  so  Hugh  drove  into  Oldfield  imme- 
diately after  breakfast ;  while  Cecil  went  as  usual  to  her 
school-room,  for  there  could  be  no  walk  through  the 
pines,  no  meeting  by  the  road-side,  on  this  occasion. 
The  children  saw  no  difference  in  their  teacher  during 
the  long  hours  of  the  morning;  but  the  teacher  was 
conscious  of  a  difference  in  herself  which  provoked  her. 
When  before  had  she  been  so  eager  for  these  hours  to 
end  ?  when  had  she  been  so  conscious  of  a  suppressed 
excitement  in  all  her  veins,  a  distraction  in  her  mind, 


94  MISS  CHURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

and  an  almost  overmastering  impatience  of  the  restraint 
laid  upon  her? 

Yet,  when  freedom  came  with  tlie  dismissal  of  the 
school,  and  she  went  to  the  house,  it  was  to  lind  that 
Hugh  and  his  friend  had  not  arrived.  It  was  so  com- 
mon an  occurrence  for  a  train  to  be  behind  time  that  it 
never  excited  alarm.  Cecil  agreed  that  it  was  very 
probably  the  case  to-daj,  and,  after  waiting  for  some 
time,  the  two  ladies  sat  down  to  dinner.  An  hour 
afterward,  a  glance  along  the  road  still  showing  no  sign 
of  Hugh's  equipage,  and  Nettie's  conjectures  becoming 
rather  trying,  Cecil,  with  the  excuse  of  some  work  to 
do,  went  back  to  the  school-room.  There  she  sat,  with 
a  book  open  before  her,  determined  not  to  yield  to  the 
restless  impatience  which  possessed  her.  But  it  is  to 
be  feared  that  she  did  not  derive  many  ideas  from  the 
page  before  her  eyes.  As  time  went  on,  thoughts  of 
possible  accidents  began  to  occur  to  her,  and  she  had 
an  inward  vision  of  what  a  blank  would  come  upon 
her  life  if  she  were  never  to  see  again  the  man  who 
two  months  before  had  only  been  a  name  to  her.  She 
looked  up  suddenly  at  the  clock.  It  was  well  on  in 
the  afternoon,  and  she  rose  quickly  with  the  intention 
of  returning  to  the  house  to  learn  if  nothing  had  been 
heard,  when  a  glance  through  the  open  door  showed 
Lysle  advancing  down  the  alley  of  the  garden.  She 
stood  for  a  moment  motionless,  then  went  forward  to 
meet  him  with  a  smile  of  welcome. 

Of  his  pleasure  in  the  meeting  there  could  be  no 
doubt.  His  dark  eyes  were  glowing  with  light  as  he 
took  her  hand.  "I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  for  com- 
ing here  to  seek  you,"  he  said.    "  Mrs.  Churchill  wished 


AMONG   TEE  PINES.  95 

to  send  for  jou,  but  I  begged  to  come.     I  thought  jou 
would  cot  object." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to 
offer  you  the  hospitality  of  my  school-room.  When 
yon  came  here  before,  I  remember  that  I  did  not  ask 
you  to  sit  down.     Let  me  repair  the  omission  now." 

He  sat  down  in  the  chair  she  offered,  but  his  shin- 
ing eyes  did  not  leave  her  face.  "  I  am  glad  to  come 
back,"  he  said.     '*It  seems  long  since  I  went  away." 

"  Time  always  seems  long  that  has  been  filled  with 
new  and  varied  impressions,"  said  Cecil. 

"  I  remember  you  told  me  that  before,"  he  answered, 
with  a  smile.  '*  Eut  the  new  and  varied  impressions 
are  not  at  all  the  reason  why  this  time  has  seemed  long 
to  me.     I  have  simply  been  anxious  to  return  here." 

''  We  are  certainly  very  much  flattered.  But  what 
has  made  you  so  late  in  arriving  to-day  1  I — we  began 
to  fear  some  accident." 

"  The  train  was  several  hours  behind  its  schedule 
time,  and  then  Hugh  had  some  business  which  detained 
him  in  Oldfield.  I  was  glad  not  to  arrive  while  you 
were  in  your  school.  It  would  have  been  very  tanta- 
lizing to  be  so  near  you,  and  yet  have  to  wait  several 
hours  to  see  you." 

Cecil's  heart  began  to  beat  a  little  rapidly.  What 
did  all  this  eagerness,  this  warmth,  mean  ?  ^N^ettie's 
innuendoes  had  fallen  on  deaf  ears,  and  she  had  never 
for  a  moment  thought  of  Lysle  consciously  as  a  lover. 
They  had  become  excellent  friends,  he  was  keenly  in- 
terested in  her  intellectual  development,  and  he  would 
serve  her  to  the  best  of  his  ability — she  was  sure  of 
that ;  but  she  would  have  repudiated  the  idea  of  any- 


96  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

thiug  else  with  something  like  scorn.  To  her  it  was 
commonplace  and  vulgar  to  imagine  that  a  mau  could 
have  no  attachment  for,  no  interest  in,  a  woman  unless 
he  w^ere  in  "  love."  That  term,  so  musical  to  most 
women's  ears,  positively  disgusted  her,  so  entirely  did 
it  seem  to  exclude  all  liner  and  wider  sympathies  for  a 
narrow,  selfish,  and  inane  passion.  But,  notwithstand- 
ing these  sentiments,  it  had  been  her  fate  to  inspire 
this  passion  more  than  once,  and  she  knew  its  signs 
from  experience  as  well  as  from  instinct.  Almost  un- 
consciously it  was  borne  to  her  now  that  there  was 
more  than  friendly  interest  in  Lysle's  eyes  and  tones ; 
and  so  her  heart  quickened  its  action,  as  she  said : 

*'  Well,  it  is  I  who  have  waited  several  hours,  and 
that  is  best,  since  women  are  proverbially  more  patient 
than  men  ;  though  I  have  always  fancied  that  they  are 
only  more  patient  because  they  must  be.  The  whole 
discipline  of  life  for  an  average  woman  is  that  of  wait- 
ing ;  she  has  so  little  power  to  order  events,  she  can 
do  so  little  for  herseK." 

"  Have  you  been  feeling  this  with  peculiar  force 
lately?"  he  asked,  with  the  quick  intuition  she  knew 
so  well.  "  I  feared  that  vou  mio:ht  be :  I  knew  the 
suspense  must  be  trying.  But  I  was  forced  to  wait  for 
a  letter,  which  reached  me  only  a  day  or  two  ago." 

"  A  letter  ? "  she  repeated. 

"  Tes,  a  letter  without  which  it  was  of  no  use  for 
me  to  return.  Until  I  received  it,  I  could  not  have 
told  you  what  I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  tell  you  now — 
that  I  am  ready  to  lay  before  you  a  plan  wiiich  will 
open  the  door  of  your  prison,  if  you  choose." 

Always  pale,  she  turned  paler  as  he  spoke.    At  that 


AMONG   TEE  PINES.  97 

moment  her  own  image  Lad  a  passionate  force  and 
meaning  for  her.  She  felt  all  the  narrowness  and  con- 
straint of  her  life  pressing  upon  her  with  the  hopeless- 
ness of  accumulated  years,  and  she  saw  Lysle  with  his 
hand  on  a  door  that  would  open  escape — if  she  chose. 
Was  there  any  form  of  escape  that  she  would  not 
choose  ?  If  he  held  out  his  hand  \Y\ih  his  heart  in  it, 
would  she  refuse  to  give  him  her  own  ?  It  was  all  a 
flash  of  instinct ;  but  the  same  instinct  which  told  her 
what  was  possible  with  him,  told  her  also  that  she  would 
not  refuse. 

She  did  not  speak,  but  her  eyes  bade  him  go  on, 
and  he  did  so.  "  Shall  I  tell  you  what  it  is  now  ?  "  he 
said.  "  There  is  no  reason  for  longer  delay.  The  per- 
son from  whom  I  waited  to  hear  was  the  Marchesa 
Ferrata.  You  have  not  forgotten  what  I  told  you  of 
her  ? " 

Cecil  had  a  sense  of  inwardly  smiling  at  herself. 
There  was  a  quick  rush  of  mingled  relief  and  disap- 
pointment, but  the  perceptible  pause  was  very  slight 
before  she  answered : 

''  I  remember  everything  that  you  told  m.e  of  her." 

"  Did  I  tell  you  that  she  has  the  kindest  heart,  the 
most  generous  nature  imaginable  ?  And  she  is,  besides, 
a  thorough  woman  of  the  world,  with  such  a  knowledge 
of  life  as  only  wdde  experience  can  give.  Know^ing  her 
60  well,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  do  better  than  to  tell  her 
of  you — of  your  life,  of  your  powers — and  to  ask  her 
advice  concerning  what  would  be  best  for  you.  Her 
answer  is  like  her :  she  offers  to  take  you  under  her  pro- 
tection for  a  year.  That  limit  is  given  in  order  to  see 
how  you  will  like  each  other.  "W^hen  it  has  expired, 
9 


98  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

you  can  enter  into  a  longer  companionship,  if  you 
like." 

He  paused,  for  Cecil's  astonishment  was  evident  on 
her  face.  "  She  offers  to  take  me  under  her  protection 
— this  woman  whom  I  have  never  seen,  who  knows 
nothing  of  me !  "  she  said. 

"  Do  you  credit  me  mth  no  powers  of  description  ? " 
he  asked,  smiling.  "  She  knows  as  much  of  you  as  I 
could  tell,  and  it  has  proved  enough  to  interest  her 
deeply.  She  does  more  than  merely  offer  her  protection : 
she  begs  that  you  will  come  to  her.  And  1  beg  also 
that  you  will  do  so,  for  I  know,  as  you  can  not  know 
yet,  how  completely  it  is  in  her  power  to  open  to  you 
the  life  for  which  you  were  formed — the  life  in  which 
your  powers  can  develop,  your  whole  nature  expand." 
Then,  as  she  did  not  speak,  he  added,  quickly :  "  It  is 
impossible  that  you  can  hesitate.  Your  life  here  is 
simply  mental  suicide." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  it  is  that.  You  do  not  realize  it 
any  more  clearly  than  I  do.  Any  more  clearly,  do  I 
say  ?  Good  heavens !  how  can  you  be  said  to  realize 
it  at  all,  compared  with  my  realization  ?  But  there  is 
something  which  I  have  always  felt  might  be  worse,  and 
that  is,  to  owe  anything  to  the  patronage  of  another." 

"  Do  you  call  kindness  and  service  '  patronage '  ? " 

"  No.  You  are  the  last  person  who  should  ask  me 
that  question,  for  surely  I  have  accepted  both  from  you. 
But  what  this  stranger  offers,  that  is  patronage,  though 
no  doubt  kindly  meant,  and  I  can  not  accept  it,  not 
even  to  escape  from  the  bondage  of  my  present  exist- 
ence. For  what  claim  have  I  upon  her?  What  reason 
is  there  that  she  should  do  this  thing  ?-^ 


AMO^^'G   THE  PINES.  99 

"  One  reason  I  have  told  you  :  she  is  interested  in 
vou,  and  she  is  at  once  quick  to  conceive  an  interest 
and  eager  in  following  it  up.  Nothing  would  give  her 
more  pleasure  than  to  be  of  use  to  you  in  the  manner 
I  have  indicated.  But  there  is  also  another  reason, 
which  may  set  your  pride  at  ease  :  she  is  in  need  of  a 
companion,  and  she  would  like  to  find  one  who  might 
become  a  friend,  and  who  would  certainly  be  a  social 
equal.  If  you  will  not  go  to  her  as  a  guest,  will  you 
go  as  a  companion  ? " 

"I  fear  that  it  would  be  a  distinction  without  a  dif- 
ference— something  which  you  have  arranged  merely 
to  '  set  my  pride  at  ease.'  " 

"  How  distrustful  you  are  1 "  he  exclaimed.  ''  I 
flattered  myself  that  I  had  won  a  little  faith  from  you, 
but  it  seems  that  I  have  not.  How  can  I  make  you 
believe  that  I  would  not  deceive  you — not  even  to  set 
you  free !  Listen  to  what  the  marchesa  herself  says." 
He  took  from  his  pocket  a  letter  bearing  a  foreign  post- 
mark, and  written  on  thin,  foreign,  scented  paper, 
'opened  it,  turned  over  a  page,  and  began  to  read  :  ''  ^  If 
Miss  Churchill  is  all  that  you  describe,  I  shall  not  only 
be  glad  to  be  of  use  to  her,  but  she  may  be  of  great  use 
to  me,  and  perhaps  it  may  be  well  to  teU  her  this.  Since 
the  marriage  of  my  niece,  I  need  a  companion  very 
much — a  companion  in  the  real  sense  of  the  term  ;  one 
who  can  go  out  with  me,  can  assist  me  in  receiving  my 
guests,  and  who  is  not  commonplace,  for  you  know  I 
abhor  commonplace  people.  I  want  refinement,  social 
grace,  intellectual  culture,  and  a  certain  interesting 
quality.  I  have  been  wondering  for  some  time  where 
I  am  to  find  these  things.     Certainly  not  in  any  one 


100  MISS  CEURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

who  answers  to  the  ordinary  idea  of  a  "  companion,"  or 
who  lias  adopted  the  calling  as  a  profession.  Among 
my  relations  and  friends,  those  who  would  suit  me  can 
not  come  to  me,  and  those  who  could  come  I  do  not 
want.  You  perceive  the  situation,  and  you  will  under- 
stand that  I  am  not  altogether  unselfish  in  offering  to 
take  charge  of  Miss  Churchill.  She  may  prove  all  that 
I  want,  and  I  am  sure  that  I  can  give  her  some  things 
which  she  wants.  Arrange,  then,  for  her  to  come  to 
me  on  any  footing  that  you  think  best  or  find  most 
practicable.  It  may  be  that  she  would  be  more  at  ease 
— have  less  sense  of  obligation — if  she  came  avowedly 
as  companion.  Should  you  find  this  to  be  the  case, 
offer  any  salary  that  you  think — '  " 

A  sudden  exclamation  from  Cecil  stopped  the  reader 
here.  He  looked  up  to  find  that  a  fiush  had  appeared 
on  her  clear  white  cheeks. 

"  There  could  be  no  question  of  that,"  she  said,  has- 
tily. "  If  I  took  the  matter  into  consideration — if,  on 
the  ground  that  I  might  be  of  use,  I  went — I  should 
look  upon  the  great  advantages  offered  me  as  far  out-' 
weighing  any  service  I  could  render." 

"  That  may  be,"  said  Lysle,  "  yet  I  am  not  sure  that 
a  regular  business  arrangement  might  not  be  best.  The 
services  you  can  render  to  the  marchesa  would  be  worth 
more  to  her  than  you  think ;  and  she  is  so  well  able  to 
offer  a  remuneration — " 

Miss  Churchill  made  a  slight  gesture,  as  of  one  who 
ends  a  discussion.  "  I  would  not  accept  it,"  she  said. 
"  Not  from  any  sentiment  of  foolish  pride — for  I  should 
be  glad  to  make  money,  if  I  could  really  give  value  for 
value  received — but  because  I  know,  as  the  marchesa 


AMONG   TEE  PINES.  101 

herself  does  not  know,  as  even  yon  do  not  know,  Mr. 
Lysle,  what  she  would  be  doing  for  me,  what  doors  she 
wo  aid  be  opening,  w^hich  by  no  other  possible  chance 
could  be  opened  for  me." 

"  Then  you  will  go  ? "  said  Lysle,  eagerly.  This  was 
to  him  the  only  important  point — that  she  should  go. 
In  what  way  mattered  little. 

She  hesitated,  looking  at  him  with  her  eyes  full  of 
a  light  that  seemed  to  him  very  pathetic.  "  How  can 
I  ? "  she  said  at  length,  with  wistful  simplicity.  "  You 
can  not  imagine  with  what  intensity  I  long  to  do  so, 
but  there  are  many  things  that  I  must  consider.  Even 
if  I  can  make  up  my  mind  to  the  venture — it  is  a  great 
venture,  surely,  to  cross  the  ocean  in  order  to  cast  my 
life  with  a  perfect  stranger,  whom  I  might  not  suit,  or 
who,  perhaps,  might  not  suit  me,  for  I  am  very  hard  to 
please — there  is  the  question  of  ways  and  means.  The 
world  does  not  abound  in  places  for  people  who  have 
little  or  no  money ;  but  I  am  very  sure  that  the  world 
in  which  the  marchesa  lives  contains  no  such  place  at 
all." 

"  The  marchesa's  house  does,"  said  Lysle.  "  Your 
expenses  there  would  be  very  small.  The  only  item 
of  any  importance  would  be  your  toilet,  and  that, 
surely,  need  not  be  great.  Everything  that  you  wear 
looks  well." 

"  Do  not  tell  N'ettie  that,  if  you  do  not  wish  her  to 
lose  all  respect  for  your  judgment.  My  toilet  is  her 
despair.  It  costs  me  little  here,  as  you  may  imagine  ; 
but  if  I  were  with  the  marchesa  it  would  be  very  dif- 
ferent. Even  I  know  enough  of  the  world  to  be  aware 
of  that." 


102  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

*'  But  you  would  not  let  sucli  a  paltry  consideration 
keep  you  from  embracing  this  great  opj)ortunity  !  "  lie 
said,  indignantly. 

"  Such  paltry  considerations  often  interfere  with 
great  things,"  she  answered,  faintly  smiling.  "  You 
must  let  me  think  a  little." 

He  rose  at  once.  "  I  will  leave  you,"  he  said. 
"  But  an  hour  or  so  hence  may  I  not  hope  for  our  walk 
in  the  pines  ?  I  should  be  sorry  to  miss  that,  for  I 
shall  only  be  here  a  day  or  two." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  will  come,"  she  answered,  "  within  an 
hour." 

''  I  hope  that  you  may  decide  wisely,"  he  said,  and 
then  quietly  went  away. 

Cecil,  sitting  motionless  where  he  left  her,  watched 

his  slender  figure  as  it  passed  down  the  garden-walk 

with  roses  blooming  on  each  side,  and  the  soft  sunshine 

falling  over  it.      What  a  change  the  coming  of  that 

figure  into  her  life  had  made !     Should  she  let  it  pass 

away  without  appreciable  result,  and  fall  back  into  the 

old  monotony  ?     She  rose  quickly  to  her  feet,  as  if  not 

her  mind   alone   but   her  whole  being  answered   the 

question  in  the  negative,  and  began  to  pace  the  floor. 

Life— 

"...  not  the  mere  being 
Of  daily  ebb  and  flow, 
But  life  itself—" 

opened  before  her  with  a  vista  of  infinite  possibilities. 
Could  she  turn  from  it,  let  the  cost  or  the  consequences 
be  what  they  might  ? 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WoEDS  were  scarcely  needed  between  Lysle  and 
Cecil  when  they  met,  so  clearly  was  her  resolve  evident 
to  him  on  her  face.  A  new  light  had  come  into  her 
eyes — the  light  of  possible  freedom  ;  and  when  they 
met  his  own,  he  felt  with  a  thrill  that  the  die  was 
cast.  She  would  go.  The  other  alternative,  which  he 
had  held  in  reserve,  need  not  be  tried.  The  opportu- 
nity for  development  and  expansion,  which  he  desired 
for  her,  was  to  be  hers  in  the  manner  he  desired.  As 
soon  as  they  found  themselves  alone  he  spoke  eager 
approval. 

"  You  have  decided  wisely,"  he  said.  "  I  see  that 
you  will  go." 

She  glanced  at  him  with  a  smile.  "  Do  you  see 
it  ? "  she  said.  "  Is  it  so  plain  as  that  ?  Yes,  I  have 
decided  ;  whether  wisely  or  not,  I  don't  know.  But  I 
will  go." 

''  It  is  certainly  wise,"  he  said.  "  You  will  find 
that  it  will  be  to  you  the  beginning  of  Kfe.  All  that 
has  passed  heretofore  has  been  but  the  preface." 

She  looked  up  at  the  pines  under  which  they  were 
walking.  "  It  is  strange,"  she  said,  "  but  during  all  my 
life  I  have  had  a  sense  as  if  it  were  not  life — as  if 
I  were  merely  existing  until  some  avenue  of  escape 


104:  ^J^SS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

opened  to  mo.  At  least,  when  I  was  younger  I  used  to 
dream  of  some  wonderful  chance — like  this ;  but  for 
the  last  four  or  five  years  I  have  fallen  into  hopeless- 
ness. AYhat  was  the  good,  I  felt,  of  expecting  the  im- 
possible ?  And  then,  when  I  had  ceased  to  expect  it, 
the  impossible  came — you  came." 

''I  have  had  some  strokes  of  luck  in  my  life,"  said 
Lysle,  "  but  nothing  for  which  I  ever  felt  so  grateful 
as  for  this — the  chance  to  seiwe  you,  to  be  instrumental 
in  the  least  degree  in  opening  the  door  which  you  were 
so  certain  did  not  exist." 

"  It  is  your  hand — yours  only — which  has  opened 
it,"  she  said.     "  I  shall  never  forget  that." 

Lysle  might  have  answered  that  he  would  never 
forget  it  either ;  but,  in  fact,  he  was  wondering  if  by  any 
possible  chance  he  should  ever  be  forced  to  regret  it. 
Prisoned  and  sunless  as  it  was,  this  life,  as  he  had  found 
it,  had  at  least  been  secure  from  the  storms  that  some- 
times wreck  existence  in  the  world  to  which  he  had 
opened  the  way.  Yet  he  knew  Cecil  would  say  that 
any  possible  shipwreck  was  better  than  the  dead  calm 
which  held  no  such  danger,  but  of  which  heart  and 
mind  alike  sickened.  This  was  indeed  his  own  feeling. 
Better  the  utmost  stress  of  life,  than  the  dull  monotony 
of  an  existence  which  held  no  possibilities.  And  what 
possibilities  might  there  not  be  for  her  in  the  new  life 
before  her?  He  looked  at  her  as  she  walked  beside 
him,  with  her  noble  presence,  her  stately  step,  and  said 
to  himself  that  to  study  the  development  of  such  a  na- 
ture was  an  opportunity  for  which  he  could  never  have 
hoped. 

Presently  she  spoke  again :  '•  You  knov/  I  told  you 


AMOXG   THE  PmES.  105 

that  there  were  some  practical  difficulties  to  be  over- 
come.  Shall  I  tell  you  how  I  have  decided  to  over- 
come them  ? " 

"  I  shall  be  very  much  interested  to  hear." 

"  And  I  wish  to  tell  you,  because  I  want  you  to  per- 
suade my  brother  that  I  am  not  mad.  He  will  cer- 
tainly think  so  when  he  hears  that  I  intend  to  sell  the 
only  piece  of  property  I  possess  that  is  of  any  value — 
a  house  which  my  aunt  left  me." 

"  But  is  that  necessary  ? "  asked  Lysle,  himself  a  lit- 
tle startled. 

"  Yery  necessary.  There  is  no  other  way  by  which 
I  can  command  the  means  I  need." 

"You  are  positively  determined,  then,  against  the 
position  of  companion  and  the  question  of  salary  \ " 

"  I  am  positively  determined  against  the  last.  But 
I  will  undertake  the  duties  of  companion,  as  under- 
stood by  the  marchesa,  and  after  a  certain  time,  if  she 
finds  that  I  am  of  use  to  her,  I  will  not  object  to  re- 
muneration. That,  however,  must  be  left  to  the  future. 
We  may  not  suit  each  other  at  all,  and  in  that  case  I 
wish  to  be  free  to  end  the  association  at  once." 

"  It  is  very  well  to  be  free,"  said  Lysle,  "  but  I  am 
sure  that  you  will  suit  each  other." 

"  Are  you  really  so  sure  ? "  She  looked  at  him 
wistfully.  "It  is  strange  that  you  should  be.  How 
can  I,  coming  out  of  this  narrow,  provincial  life,  suit  a 
woman  who  knows  only  the  great  world?  It  seems 
almost  incredible." 

"  There  is  nothing  narrow  or  provincial  about  you," 
he  said.  "  Some  people  unconsciously  reject  such  influ- 
ences.    When  you  enter  the  great  world  you  will  have 


106  MISS  CHUECHILL:    A  STUDY. 

mucli  to  learn,  but  notliing  to  unlearn.  That  is  a  very- 
important  point." 

"  You  are  certainly  formed  for  comforter  and  en- 
courager,  Mr.  Ljsle.  While  I  listen  to  you,  I  can  never 
doubt  you,  no  matter  what  flattering  things  you  tell 
me ;  thougli  when  I  am  alone  I  often  say  to  myself, 
'  His  kindness  makes  him  exaggerate.'  " 

"  My  kindness  does  not,''''  said  Lysle,  positively.  "  In 
fact,  1  have  no  kindness  of  that  sort  at  all.  If  you  im- 
agine that  I  am  philanthropically  inclined,  or  that  I 
go  about  the  world  comforting  and  encouraging  people, 
I  must  tell  you  that  you  are  very  much  mistaken.  I 
am  as  selfish  as  most  other  men,  and  I  very  seldom  find 
any  one  who  really  excites  my  interest.  Indeed,  you 
must  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  I  never  met  any  one  who 
excited  it  so  much  as  yourself,  Miss  Churchill." 

She  smiled.  "I  have  known  from  the  first  that 
you  regarded  me  as  an  interesting  study,"  she  said. 

"  As  a  very  interesting  study — yes,"  he  answered. 
"  But  not  only  as  that.  Your  instincts  are  too  fine 
for  you  not  to  know  how  personal  is  my  interest  in 
you." 

She  colored  quickly,  feeling  that  she  had  made  a 
mistake — that  her  instincts  had  indeed  told  her  too 
much  to  make  it  safe  to  enter  upon  the  question  of  the 
exact  nature  of  his  interest. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  hastily,  "  I  do  not  doubt  that  your 
interest  in  me  is  personal  as  well  as — artistic,  shall  I 
say?  I  believe  in  the  reality  of  the  old  friendship  that 
brought  you  here.  And,  a  jprojpos  of  that,  my  brother 
has  so  much  respect  for  your  judgment  and  knowledge 
of  the  world,  that  I  hope  I  am  not  asking  too  much  in 


AMONG   THE  PINES.  107 

begging  you  to  inform  him  of  your — our  plan.  He 
would  think  me  quite  wild  if  I  went  to  him  and  told 
him  that  I  intended  to  part  with  my  only  source  of 
income  in  order  to  go  to  Europe  to  a  woman  I  never 
saw." 

"It  does  sound  rather  wild,  stated  in  that  way," 
said  Lysle,  with  a  smile.  "  I  will  gladly  undertake  to 
lay  the  matter  before  him  in  all  its  bearings.  And  I 
have  no  doubt  of  finding  him  reasonable." 

"  He  is  always  reasonable,"  said  his  sister.  "  Some- 
times a  little  too  reasonable." 

"  I  understand  what  you  mean,  but  I  do  not  think 
he  will  prove  too  reasonable  in  this  case." 

Mr.  Churchill  justified  his  friend's  opinion  by  listen- 
ing without  any  offensive  display  of  reason  to  a  plan 
which  certainly  sounded  somewhat  wild.  The  two 
men  were  smoking  together,  according  to  their  usual 
custom  after  the  ladies  had  retired  for  the  night,  and,  as 
Lysle  unfolded  the  details  of  his  arrangement,  he  did 
not  perceive  a  shade  of  disappointment  that  settled  on 
the  other's  face.  In  fact,  when,  with  a  little  diffidence, 
he  had  said,  "  I  should  like  to  speak  to  you  about  your 
sister,  Hugh,"  Churchill  had  thought  that  Nettie,  after 
all,  was  right,  and  that  he  was  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
giving  his  fraternal  benediction  to  the  suit  of  the  one 
man  ever  likely  to  please  Cecil.  He  could  not  repress  a 
sense  of  disappointment,  therefore,  at  the  very  different 
proposal  unfolded  to  him  ;  and  this  sense  of  disappoint- 
ment had  the  effect  of  making  him  more  silent  than  he 
would  otherwise  have  been,  as  he  listened.  Only  when 
Lysle  paused  did  he  remove  his  pipe  from  his  lips, 
and  say: 


108  JifISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

"As  far  as  I  imderstandj  you  propose  that  Cecil 
Bliall  go  abroad,  to  live  as  companion  witli  a  lady  whom 
she  has  never  seen.  May  I  ask  what  she  would  gain 
by  such  an  arrangement  ? " 

"Everything,"  answered  Lysle,  comprehensively. 
"  The  marchesa  offers  great  social  advantages  to  any 
one  whom  she  takes  under  her  protection  ;  and  although 
she  speaks  of  a  companion,  what  she  desires  is  an  equal 
and  friend.  Miss  Churchill  will  see  life  under  very 
favorable  conditions  with  her,  and  will  have  opportuni- 
ties for  mental  culture  which  she  could  not  command 
in  any  other  way." 

"  But  what  will  be  gained  by  it  ?  "  Hugh  repeated. 
"  I  do  not  speak  of  the  risk  in  the  association  of  two 
people  who  do  not  know  each  other — a  risk  which,  on 
Cecil's  side  at  least,  is  greater  than  you  can  imagine. 
Put  that  aside,  and  tell  me  what  she  will  gain,  for  I 
can  easily  tell  you  what  she  will  lose." 

"  What  ? "  asked  Lysle. 

"  All  content  with  life  here — the  life  to  which,  in 
the  ordinary  course  of  events,  she  must  return.  I  am 
not  blind  :  I  know  that  she  does  not  like  it  now.  But 
what  is  dislike  now  will  be  aversion  then  ;  and  yet  she 
must  bear  it." 

"  She  need  not  return,"  said  Lysle,  slowly. 

"  You  think,  then,  that  it  will  be  an  improvement 
on  her  present  life — a  life  in  which  she  has  at  least  a 
recognized  position  among  her  friends  and  equals — to 
become  the  mere  appendage  of  a  woman  of  rank  ? " 
asked  Churchill,  almost  angrily.  "  If  so,  I  must  differ 
with  you.  And  to  wish  to  deprive  us  of  her,  finally 
and  definitely,  in  order  that  this  marchesa  may  have 


AMO^^'G  THE  PINES.  109 

a  companion,  is,  if  you  will  pardon  me,  a  strange  proof 
of  friendship." 

"You  misunderstand  entirely,"  said  Lysle,  with 
great  earnestness.  "  Listen,  while  I  speak  with  perfect 
openness.  I  must  tell  you  that  my  interest  in  your 
sister  is  deeper  than  mere  friendship.  If  I  thought  of 
myself  only — if  I  listened  to  the  dictates  of  my  own 
heart — I  should  ask  her  to  let  7ne  open  the  doors  of  the 
world  to  her.  But  that  would  be  to  defeat  the  chief 
object  that  I  have  in  view.  It  is  true  that  I  have  held 
this  as  a  possibility  in  reserve.  I  said  to  myself,  that  if 
she  refused  the  offer  of  the  marchesa,  I  might  then 
make  my  offer ;  but  she  has  accepted  the  first,  so  I  have 
held  my  peace." 

"  Why  ? — in  Heaven's  name  !  "  asked  Hugh,  whose 
surprise  was  ascending  from  the  comparative  to  the 
superlative  degree. 

Lysle  laughed  a  little  as  he  looked  at  the  pale -blue 
smoke  ascending  from  a  cigar  held  between  his  fingers. 
"  I  suppose  it  does  seem  rather  a  queer  proceeding  to 
you,"  he  said.  "  I  wonder  if  I  can  explain,  so  as 
to  make  it  clear  ?  In  the  first  place,  then,  are  you 
aware  that  your  sister  is  by  no  means  an  ordinary 
person  ? " 

"  I  am  very  well  aware  of  it.  No  one  could  know 
Cecil  without  discovering  that  she  is  peculiar — and 
clever  also.     I  fully  recognize  that." 

"  She  is  much  more  than  clever.    She  has  mental  gifts 

of  the  highest  order,  and  a  nature  so  richly  endowed, 

that  the  poverty  of  her  present  life,  in  all  opportunities 

for  development,  is  simply  terrible.    She  is  like  a  plant 

starving  for  sunshine.     All  her  powers  are  straitened 
10 


no  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

and  crippled,  because  slie  lacks  both  tlie  culture  that  can 
only  be  obtained  by  intercourse  with  the  intellectual 
world,  and  the  experience  and  knowledge  of  life  that 
are  absolutely  necessary  to  the  creative  artist.  What  I 
desire  above  all  things — what  I  have  desired  from  the 
first  day  I  met  her — is,  that  she  should  possess  the  op- 
portunity for  complete  development.  And  in  order 
that  it  may  be  complete,  she  must  be  free.  The  artistic 
nature  will  not  bear  fetters.  It  submits  to  them,  per- 
haps— as  she  is  submitting  now — but  it  suffers  in  every 
way,  in  loss  of  power  as  well  as  in  sensation.  If  I 
asked  her  to  marry  me,  she  might  consent  to  do  so,  for 
there  is,  of  course,  a  certain  sympathy  between  us,  and 
she  likes  and  trusts  me  ;  but  she  would  enter  the  world, 
in  that  case,  bound  instead  of  free ;  her  intellectual  de- 
yelopment  could  not  be  so  perfect;  and  it  is  possible 
that,  with  wider  knowledge,  she  might  even  discover 
that  she  had  m.ade  a  great  mistake." 

As  Lysle  proceeded,  his  voice  becoming  more  em- 
phatic, despite  its  quietude,  with  every  sentence, 
Churchill's  eyes  expanded  with  growing  amazement. 
All  this  seemed  to  him  unreal  in  the  highest  degree — 
a  fanciful  development  of  Lysle's  own  imagination,  at 
which  he  mio^ht  have  launched  if  the  result  had  not  been 
SO  serious.  But  the  perception  of  the  result  rendered 
him  grave  enough. 

"It  strikes  me,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  making  a 
great  mistake.  What  is  this  intellectual  development, 
that  you  should  lay  so  much  stress  on  it,  and  that  you 
should  be  willing  to  sacrifice  to  it  your  own  happiness, 
and  perhaps  that  of  Cecil  also  ? " 

'*  I  hope  that  I  shall  not  sacrifice  either,"  answered 


AMONG   THE  PINES.  \\\ 

Lysle ;  "  but  certainly,  if  so,  it  will  only  be  my  own.  I 
am  not  likely  to  change — 1  am  old  enough  to  speak 
with  some  certainty  on  that  point ;  and  therefore,  when 
Miss  Churchill  has  seen  more  of  the  world,  she  will 
have  the  opportunity  to  refuse  or  to  accept  the  devotion 
which  I  do  not  think  it  fair  to  offer  to  her  inexperience 
now.  That  was  what  I  meant  when  I  said  that  she 
might  not  return." 

Hugh  shook  his  head.  "  Tou  are  making  a  great 
mistake,"  he  reiterated.  "I  know  Cecil  better  than 
you  do.  Oh,  you  need  not  smile ;  I  am  not  alluding 
to  the  exact  nature  of  her  mental  qualities.  You  are 
no  doubt  much  better  able  to  define  that  than  I  am. 
But  I  know  her  character,  and  I  tell  you  that  a  more 
capricious  and  changeable  creature  does  not  exist.  Even 
as  a  child  she  was  fickle  in  all  her  likings,  and  as  she 
grew  older  she  discarded  friend  after  friend — cooling 
rapidly  toward  them  and  dropping  them  ;  until  now,  if 
she  has  one  left,  I  do  not  know  who  it  is." 

"  She  outgrew  them,"  said  Lysle.  "  They  failed  to 
respond  to  her  intellectual  needs.  That  is  often  the 
case  with  the  artistic  temperament :  it  quickly  exhausts 
all  that  it  can  assimilate  in  those  with  whom  it  comes 
in  contact,  and  then,  of  course,  weariness  follows.  It 
is  purely  an  intellectual  process ;  the  heart  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it." 

"I  should  say  not,"  answered  Hugh,  dryly.  '*In 
fact,  between  ourselves,  I  doubt  exceedingly  if  Cecil  is 
troubled  with  much  heart." 

Lysle  smiled  slightly.  The  smile  meant  that  he 
recognized  this  charge  as  a  very  common  one  against 
those  whose  hearts   are   not  manifested  in  the   usual 


112  MISS  CEURGHILL:    A  STUDY. 

manner  of  commonplace  humanity.     Clim-cliill  caught 
the  smile  as^ain  and  answered  it. 

"  If,"  lie  said,  "  you  think  that  I  am  in  error,  if  you 
have  reason  to  believe  that  she  has  a  heart,  take  my 
advice,  and  gain  it  while  you  may.  Your  opportimity 
will  be  lost  when  once  she  goes  out  into  the  distractions 
of  what  you  call  the  world.  I  should  not  say  this  with- 
out reason — the  strongest  reason.  It  is  not  a  pleasant 
duty  to  urge  forward  a  reluctant  suitor." 

The  other  flushed  deeply.  "If  I  am  reluctant,  it 
is  because  I  think  of  Jier,^^  he  said.  "  If  I  thought  of 
myself —  But  I  do  not  wish  to  do  that.  I  thought 
you  would  understand  me  better,  Hugh.  I  thought 
you  would  realize,  as  I  do,  that  if  she  listened  to  me 
now  it  might  be  only  through  her  ignorance." 

"  And  why  only  through  her  ignorance  ? "  demanded 
Hugh.  "  If  it  were  necessary  for  every  woman  to  go 
into  the  world  and  acquire  an  exhaustive  knowledge  of 
men  before  she  could  decide  whether  or  not  it  was  for 
her  happiness  to  accept  one  man,  how  many  would 
marrv  at  all  ? " 

"  We  are  not  talking  of  every  woman ;  we  are  talk- 
ing of  your  sister,  who,  we  have  agreed,  is  not  to  be 
judged  by  ordinary  rules." 

"  You  insist  upon  making  her  more  extraordinary 
than  she  is.  And  where  in  all  the  world  could  she  find 
a  man  better  suited  to  her  than  you  are  ?  Again  I  say 
that  you  are  making  a  mistake,  and  a  mistake  that  you 
will  regret,  if  you  really  care  for  her." 

"  The  doubt  implied  is,  from  your  point  of  view, 
natural,  I  suppose,"  said  Lysle.  "  I  can  not  help  it.  I 
can  not  fetter  her — not  even  with  her  own  consent — at 


AMONG   THE  PINES.  113 

the  time  she  should  be  free.  It  would  be  gross  selfish- 
ness.   And,  if  it  is  a  mistake,  I  alone  shall  suffer  for  it." 

''  There  would  be  no  particular  consolation  in  that, 
60  far  as  I  can  perceive,"  said  Churchill. 

They  were  both  silent  after  this  for  a  moment,  each 
conscious  of  being  slightly  chafed  with  the  other — 
Churchill  by  what  he  thought  the  folly,  Lysle  by  what 
he  considered  the  dullness,  of  his  friend.  It  was  Lysle 
who,  being  most  of  a  philosopher,  recovered  himself  first. 

"  What  fools  we  are  sometimes !  "  he  observed,  medi- 
tatively. "  I  am  not  alluding  to  you,  my  dear  Church- 
ill, but  to  myself.  Before  we  began  to  talk,  I  really 
indulged  the  anticipation  of  inducing  you  to  regard  this 
matter  as  I  regard  it.  But  I  realize  now  what  I  have 
often  had  occasion  to  realize  before — that  it  is  hardly 
possible  to  look  at  anything  with  the  eyes  of  another. 
I  can  not  make  you  understand  how  deeply  I  am  im- 
pressed by  your  sister's  abilities,  nor  how  important  I 
consider  it  to  secure  for  her  the  intellectual  culture,  the 
sympathetic  atmosphere,  the  freedom  that  she  needs. 
You  disapprove  of  my  scheme,  and  I  think — I  fear — 
that  you  are  inclined  to  distrust  me." 

"JSTo,"  said  Churchill,  "I  do  not  distrust  you,  else 
I  should  make  short  work  of  the  matter.  But  I  do  dis- 
approve of  the  scheme,  and  therefore  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  give  a  cordial  assent  to  it.  I  think  that  it 
will  end  badly  for  Cecil,  and— and,  if  I  am  to  credit 
fully  all  that  you  have  told  me,  badly  also  for  you." 

^'I  have  no  fear  of  its  ending  badly  for  her;  and, 
for  myself,  I  am  willing  to  take  all  risks.  I  hope,  there- 
fore, that  you  will  not  throw  any  obstacles  in  the  way 
of  what  she  wishes  to  do." 


114  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  It  is  not  in  my  power  to  throw  any  obstacles  in 
her  way,  even  if  I  desired  to  do  so.  I  have  no  control 
over  her,  and  she  has  never  paid  much  heed  to  advice." 

"  There  is  more  in  yom'  power  than  you  imagine. 
The  marchesa,  as  I  think  I  told  jou,  offers  a  salary, 
w^hich  Miss  Churchill  declines  to  accept.  I  am  glad 
that  slie  does  decline.  It  leaves  her  more  free,  but  it 
also  forces  her  to  incur  some  expense.  Now,  she  fears 
that  you  will  object  to  the  means  by  which  she  proposes 
to  meet  this  expense." 

'•  What  does  she  want  to  do  ? "  asked  Hugh,  with 
an  apprehensive  look  which  seemed  to  say  that  nothing 
would  surprise  him. 

"  She  wishes  to  sell  a  house  which  she  owns — which 
was  left  her,  as  I  understand,  by  her  aunt." 

"  To  sell  her  house — the  rent  of  which  is  her  chief 
source  of  income !     Why,  it  would  be  madness  !  " 

''  Xo  doubt  it  looks  so  to  you,"  said  Lysle  ;  "^  but  I 
do  not  think  it  would  be  madness,  even  if  it  had  to  be 
done.  But  I  hope  that  it  need  not  be  done.  Surely 
there  must  be  some  other  way." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,"  replied  Hugh,  briefly. 
An  hour  before  he  would  have  talked  freely  of  his 
financial  difficulties  to  his  friend  ;  but  now  his  dormant 
but  always  existent  pride  was  roused  by  the  conscious- 
ness that  Lysle  stood  in  the  position  of  a  possible  suitor 
to  Cecil.  It  was  enough  to  remember  that  he  had 
urged  him  to  come  forward  with  his  suit ;  it  would  be 
too  much  to  seem  to  offer  an  additional  reason  for 
doing  so.  The  house  had  better  be  sacrificed  than  that. 
So  he  answered  briefly,  and  changed  the  subject  by 
saying,  "  If  she  insists  upon  going — as  I  have  no  doubt 


AMONG   THE  PINES.  115 

she  will — I  suppose  we  maj  at  least  Lave  the  comfort 
of  knowing  that  the  position  of  this  marchesa  is  all  that 
it  should  be  ? " 

"  She  is  a  woman  of  the  highest  social  position  and 
the  most  unblemished  personal  character,"  answered 
Lysle.  "  I  would  be  incapable  of  advising  Miss  Church- 
ill to  place  herself  under  the  protection  of  any  one 
about  whose  position  there  was  the  least  question. 
There  is  none  about  that  of  the  Marchesa  Ferrata." 

"  Did  I  understand  you  to  eay  that  she  is  English  ? " 

"  Partly  English  and  partly  Greek.  I  have  always 
regarded  it  as  one  of  the  good  fortunes  of  my  life  that 
I  should  be  distantly  connected  with  her;  and  she  has 
been  very  kind  to  me  from  my  boyhood.  Therefore  I 
knew  that  I  might  rely  upon  her  kindness  for  Miss 
Churchill." 

"  How  old  is  she  ?  " 

"  Really,  I  hardly  know.  One  does  not  think  of  the 
age  of  a  charming  woman.  ]^ot  less  than  forty,  how- 
ever." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Churchill,  picturing  to  himself 
a  sedate,  middle-aged  person.  "Well,  as  there  is  no 
good  in  fighting  against  the  inevitable,  I  suppose  I 
might  as  well  make  up  my  mind  to  aid  Cecil  to  go, 
with  as  good  a  grace  as  I  can  command." 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  will  not  regret  it,"  said  Lysle. 

"  I  wish  I  were  as  sure  that  you  will  not,"  was  the 
significant  reply. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Sunset  again  in  the  pine-lands,  and  tlie  two,  who 
had  grown  accustomed  to  each  other's  companionship  at 
this  hour,  were  looking  at  it  with  the  consciousness 
that  it  was  the  last  thej  would  watch  together.  The 
haze  of  Indian  summer,  which  had  filled  the  air  and 
dimmed  the  sunshine  all  day,  softened  also  the  sun- 
set glory  from  resplendence  to  tenderness.  The  sun 
had  gone  down  as  a  red  ball  through  the  mist,  leav- 
ing no  dazzling  clouds  in  his  wake,  but  only  a  diffused 
glow  of  roseate  gold,  which  overarched  a  purple  world, 
out  of  which  spicy,  balsamic  odors  came  on  the  freshen- 
ing wings  of  the  evening  wind. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Lysle,  breaking  a  silence  of  some 
length,  "when  you  and  I  will  watch  another  sunset 
together ! " 

Cecil  started  a  little,  but  did  not  look  at  him.  ''  Ah, 
when  ?  "  she  said.  "  That  is  a  question  impossible  to 
answer." 

"  And  best  not  to  think  of  when  one  considers  the 
conditions  of  life — how  seldom  a  thing  ever  occurs  as 
we  fancy  or  as  we  desire  it.  There  really  seems  a  pre- 
mium placed  upon  not  desiring  anything,"  said  he,  ab- 
stractedly stripping  a  small  pine  shrub  beside  him  of 
its  odorous  needles,  "  for  the  thing  which  we  do  not  de- 


AMONa   TEE  PIEES.  117 

sire  is  almost  certain  to  be  tlie  thing  which  conies  to 
pass." 

'•  How  consoling  your  j^hilosophj  is  this  evening," 
said  Miss  Churchill,  "  especially  since  I  am  on  the  brink 
of  a  great  change ! " 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  quickly.  ''  But  in  truth  my 
words  did  not  apply  to  you  at  all.  I  was  thinking 
altogether  of  myself  and  my  own  experience." 

She  looked  at  him  then — curiosity  as  well  as  sympa- 
thy in  her  glance.  "And  has  the  thing  you  desired 
never  come  to  pass  ? "  she  asked. 

^  "  Never — or,  if  it  came  to  pass,  it  had  changed  its 
character  so  entirely  that  it  proved  to  be  not  at  all 
what  I  desired." 

"  Perhaps  you  had  changed — not  the  thing.  I  can 
understand  that." 

"  Can  you  ?  But  I  do  not  think  it  was  I  who  had 
changed.  I  still  knew  distinctly  what  I  wanted — too 
distinctly,  perhaps,  since  neither  circumstances  nor  peo- 
ple are  apt  to  fill  exactly  the  outlines  of  an  ideal." 

"  Oh,  if  you  wanted  the  outlines  of  an  ideal  filled, 
I  am  no  longer  surprised  at  your  disappointment. 
Why,  even  I  know  better  than  to  expect  that !  " 

He  laughed.  "  You  are  wisdom  itself.  Miss  Church- 
ill. And  indeed  I  should  not  be  uttering  such  com- 
plaints, if  complaints  they  can  be  called — just  now, 
when  Fate  has  given  me  one  thing  which  I  very  much 
desired.  Whatever  comes  or  does  not  come  to  me^ 
the  door  which  leads  into  the  world  is  open  to  yoit  now." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  looking  back  again  to  the  rosy 
sky,  where,  like  Diana's  bow,  the  silver  crescent  of  the 
new  moon  hung.      "  Yes,"  she  repeated  after  a  mo- 


118  MISS  CHURCEILL:    A   STUDY. 

ment's  meditation,  "it  is  open;  but  what  shall  I  find 
bejond  %  Do  you  think  the  outlines  of  my  ideals  are 
likely  to  be  filled,  Mr.  Lysle." 

"  You  have  just  said  that  you  do  not  expect  it." 

"  That  is  very  true.  Yet  let  one  lower  one's  ex- 
pectations as  one  may,  there  is  always  room  for  disap- 
pointment. You,  who  have  discovered  so  many  cheer- 
ful things,  must  be  aware  of  that." 

"  I  am  very  well  aware  of  it  myself,  but  I  decline 
to  believe  in  it  for  you.  I  believe  that  your  ideals  are 
going  to  be  fulfilled  more  completely  than  you  imagine, 
in  the  life  opening  before  you.  I  speak  with  confidence 
— because  I  know  the  life,  and  I  know  you." 

''Do  you  think  that  you  know  me?"  she  asked, 
with  a  slight  smile.     "  I  am  not  sure  of  it." 

"  I^ot  exhaustively,  perhaps.  1  could  not  have  the 
presumption  to  declare  that.  But  I  know  you  well 
enough  to  be  sure  of  what  will  suit  you  in  every  fiber 
of  your  being.  I  have  never  anticipated  a  greater 
pleasure  than  that  of  seeing  you  expand  in  the  exist- 
ence for  which  you  were  made." 

She  turned  her  eyes  on  him  again,  and  perhaps  it 
was  the  sunset  glow  reflected  on  them  which  made 
them  seem  so  full  of  light. 

"  When  you  speak  in  that  way,"  she  said, "  you  force 
me  to  recall  your  words  a  few  minutes  ago — how  you 
declared  that  nothing  you  desired  ever  came  to  you. 
Do  not  expect  too  much  from  me,  Mr.  Lysle,  or  you 
may  prepare  for  yourself  another  disappointment." 

Despite  himself,  Lysle  started.  These  words 
seemed  like  an  echo  of  some  others  that  he  had  heard 
very  lately. 


AMONG   TEE  PINES.  119 

"  Do  jou  mean,"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  "  that 
you  do  not  think  the  life  will  suit  you  ? " 

"  Oh,  no — I  have  very  little  doubt  of  that.  It  is  the 
life  for  which  I  have  always  longed  passionately,  hope- 
lessly. It  will  suit  me,  as  you  have  said,  in  every  fiber 
of  my  being.  But  I  want  to  prepare  you  for  the  fact 
that  it  may  not  affect  me  exactly  in  the  way  you  antici- 
pate. I  am  accustomed  to  disappointing  miyself,  but  I 
should  be  sorry  to  disappoint  you." 

"  I  confess,"  he  said, ''  that  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  Do  you  not  ?  Then  it  is  the  first  time  I  have  had 
to  reproach  you  with  slowness  of  apprehension.  But  I 
think  you  do  understand.  You  are  looking  for  me  to 
develop  into  something  very  brilliant,  and  I  shall  dis- 
appoint you — I  feel  that  I  shall." 

He  shook  his  head.  '*  Make  another  prophecy. 
That  is  impossible." 

"  I  prophesy,  then,  that  the  form  the  development 
will  take  will  disappoint  you.  You  need  not  smile  in- 
credulouslY.  I  know  you — at  least  in  part — as  well  as 
you  know  me.  You  are  a  man  whose  ideals  can  be  very 
easily  disappointed." 

'^  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  a  quick  light  in  his  dark 
eyes  as  they  met  her  own,  "  but  I  am  a  man  whose  in- 
stincts tell  him  that  you  will  never  disappoint  any  ideal 
that  I  may  form  of  you.  All  this  is  only  another  phase 
of  self-distrust — the  self-distrust  which  made  it  so  hard 
for  you  to  believe  in  yourself." 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  said,  with  a  short  sigh,  "  what  is  the 
good  of  talking?  "Words  are  misleading  sometimes, 
even  when  one  is  trying  most  to  be  frank.  But  remem- 
ber I  warn  you — do  not  hope  for  too  much." 


120  MISS  CEUEGEILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  I  do  not  hope  for  anything  at  all,"  he  replied.  "  I 
am  certain  of  some  things.    The  rest  I  leave  to — Fate." 

"  The  Fate  which  has  never  given  you  anything  you 
desired  ? " 

"  Perhaps  it  may  relent  at  last.  If  not — what  will 
be,  will  be." 

His  voice  fell  over  the  last  words.  lie  made  a 
slight  motion  witli  his  hand,  as  if  he  were  dismissing 
something — some  hope,  some  probability,  perhaps — and 
then  for  a  little  w^iile  there  was  silence.  Cecil  sat 
motionless,  her  eyes  fastened  on  the  sunset  sky,  with 
the  pines  outlined  against  its  gold,  while  Lysle's  gaze 
presently  fixed  itself  on  her  face.  How  entirely  alone 
they  were! — how  much  alone  in  every  sense!  The 
solemn  forest  which  encircled  them  might  have  been 
that  of  some  legend  of  enchantment,  so  entirely  did  it 
seem  to  divide  them  from  the  world  of  which  they 
spoke — the  world  that  might  yet  place  a  barrier  be- 
tween lives  that  a  word  might  now  unite.  Was  it  the 
consciousness  of  this  possibility  which  made  that  word 
tremble  on  Lysle's  lip  ?  The  instinct  which  never 
played  him  false  told  him  that  under  Cecil's  calm  her 
pulses  were  beating  like  his  own,  and  that  if  he  spoke 
she  might  turn  with  a  divine  light  in  her  deep,  beau- 
tiful eyes.  Was  Hugh  right,  after  all  ?  If  he  surren- 
dered this  chance,  would  he  never  possess  another  ? 
Life,  he  knew,  was  not  prone  to  offer  twice  the  chances 
that  nndecided  fingers  let  slip.  Now  his  was  the  only 
touch  upon  her  life,  the  only  influence  to  which  she  re- 
sponded— how  would  it  be  when  other  touches  came, 
when  she  was  bent  and  swayed  by  other  influences? 
The  thought  made  him  draw  a  quick,  sharp  breath  as 


AMONG  THE  PINES,  121 

he  looked  at  her.  Yet  in  the  very  stress  of  the  tempta- 
tion lay  the  strongest  reason  for  resisting  it.  If  this 
were  his  only  chance,  then  (he  said  to  himself)  it  was 
no  chance  at  all,  but  only  an  advantage  taken  of  her 
ignorance.  If  his  influence  would  not  prove  strong 
enough  to  resist  the  influences  about  to  enter  her  life, 
then  certainly  he  would  forge  no  outside  bond  to  hold 
her.  He  would  not  offer  freedom  in  name  and  take  it 
away  in  fact.  Better  any  disappointment,  any  pain  to 
himself,  than  that.  It  was  with  the  strength  of  this 
resolve  in  his  voice  that  he  spoke  at  length : 

"  After  all,  the  present  is  our  only  real  concern. 
To-morrow,  which  may  never  come,  and  which  will 
certainly  find  us  changed  in  many  ways  when  it  does 
come,  may  be  left  to  take  care  of  itself.  "We  can  only 
act  to-day  according  to  the  best  light  we  have." 

"Yes?"  she  said,  without  looking  at  him.  "And 
by  what  Light  are  you  acting  ? " 

He  was  a  little  startled ;  the  question  seemed  to 
bear  so  directly  upon  his  inward  struggle.  Yet  he 
said  to  himself  that,  after  all,  he  could  not  suppose 
her  entirely  unaware  of  it,  and  that  it  was  best  she 
should  understand  his  motive  as  far  as  might  be  pos- 
sible. 

"  By  what  light  am  I  acting  ? "  he  repeated  slowly. 
"  Surely  you  must  know.  By  that  which  seems  to  me 
best  for  you.  The  door  of  your  prison — of  the  narrow 
life  that  held  all  your  faculties  dormant  and  chained — 
is  open,  and  I  want  you  to  go  forth  without  a  fetter 
upon  you,  without  anything  that  could  retard  the  devel- 
opment from  which  I  hope  so  much.  Do  not  say  again 
that  I  may  be  disappointed.  That  is  not  the  point  at 
11 


122  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

all — my  disapjDointment.  I  have  no  fear  of  it ;  but  if 
it  were  so — if  I  were  disappointed  and  yet  you  found 
happiness  in  the  way  that  suited  you  best — beheve  me 
I  should  not  be  sorry.     I  should  be  glad." 

She  glanced  at  him  swiftly,  but  she  did  not  meet 
his  gaze.  In  uttering  the  last  words  he  had  looked 
away  from  her.  His  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  dim 
purple  rim  of  the  horizon,  as  if  he  saw  there  the  possi- 
bility for  which  he  should  be  glad. 

"  You  think  of  me  very  much  and  very  kindly," 
she  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "•  You  may  believe  this — that 
I  will  never  consciously  disappoint  you." 

"  Oh,  but  that  will  not  do  !  "  he  said,  quickly — and 
now  their  eyes  met,  as  he  turned  his  face  toward  her 
in  the  energy  of  protest — "  that  is  what  I  wish  to 
avoid,  that  you  should  be  bound  in  any  way.  What  I 
desire  for  you  is  perfect  freedom." 

"  You  desire  an  imj^ossibility.  Who  is  perfectly 
free?" 

"  A  few  people,  I  think.  But  if  that  is  too  com- 
prehensive, I  will  amend  it  and  say  that  I  desire  for 
you  as  much  freedom  as  the  limitations  and  conditions 
of  life  permit.  I  want  you  to  develop  in  the  manner 
intended  by  I^ature.  I  see  what  you  are  in  your  chill, 
darkened  life.  I  want  to  see  w^hat  you  will  become 
with  air,  space,  sunshine." 

She  laughed  slightly.  "  Still  the  study !  I  have 
told  you  before  that  that  is  chiefly  the  form  your  inter- 
est in  me  takes." 

"  Well — and  if  it  were  so,  do  you  object  to  being 
regarded  as  a  study  ? " 

"  Oh,  no."     She  lifted  her  shoulders  with  a  gesture 


AMONG   THE  FINES.  123 

expressive  of  indifference.  "  Whj  sliould  I  object  ? 
Are  we  not  all,  in  one  way  or  another,  studies  to  one 
another  ?  But  I  have  an  idea  that  you  will  find  me 
unsatisfactory  in  the  end.     Every  one  does." 

*'  Who  is  every  one  ?  I  distinctly  object  to  being 
classed  with  people  of  whom  I  know  nothing.  But 
you  remind  me  that  I  have  had  a  warning  about  you 
lately." 

"  A  warning — about  me  !  "  she  turned,  with  haughty 
quickness.     "  Who  could  have  ventured — " 

^'  Your  brother.  And  what  he  told  me  was  that 
you  soon  wearied  of  your  friends,  and  that,  when  you 
wearied,  you  discarded  them  without  ceremony.  This 
information  did  not  frighten  me,  however.  If  I  had 
the  misfortune  to  weary  you,  I  should  prefer  to  be  dis- 
carded without  ceremony  to  being  endured  with  pa- 
tience. So  let  ceremony  be  as  short  as  possible,  Miss 
Churchill." 

"  I  promise  you  that  it  shall  be,  Mr.  Lysle,  when  I 
am  tired  of  you.  But  how  could  Hugh  tell  you  such 
a  thing  ?  It  was  natural  enough  from  his  point  of  view, 
I  suppose,  and  yet — " 

^'  It  was  altogether  natural  from  his  point  of  view, 
but  I  had  the  presumption  to  take  another  view.  I 
have  not  known  you  as  long  as  your  brother  has, 
but  I  think  —  I  believe  —  that  I  know  you  a  little 
better.  I  know  that  the  people  of  whom  you  wearied 
were  people  whom  you  had  endowed  out  of  your 
own  imagination  with  qualities  which  they  did  not  pos- 
sess. When  you  found  your  mistake,  you — dropped 
them." 

"  Yes,  sometimes  very  precipitately,  I  fear." 


124  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  Such  tilings  are  best  done  decidedly  if  they  are  to 
be  done  at  all.  And  it  was  necessary  that  it  should  be 
done,  because  disgust  as  well  as  weariness  took  the  place 
of  your  former  interest." 

"  Yes,"  she  said  again.  "  You  know  so  much  about 
it  that  I  think  you  must  have  had  some  experiences  of 
the  kind  yourself." 

"Now  and  then,  of  course.  But  what  I  wish  to 
say  is,  that  there  is  no  reason  at  all  for  you  to  blame 
yourseK  in  the  matter,  as  I  think  you  are  inclined 
to  do." 

"  Sometimes  I  despise  myself,"  she  said.  "  I  seem 
to  have  no  constancy,  no  depth  or  strength  of  feeling 
at  all.  "Why  do  you  smile,  Mr.  Lysle?  Is  there  not 
something  contemptible  in  that  ?  Is  it  not  the  mark  of 
a  shallow  nature  ? " 

"  IS^ot  always.  Sometimes  it  is  the  mark  of  a  nature 
not  easily  satisfied  by  ordinary  things — a  nature  in 
which  depth  of  possible  feeling,  vivid  imagination,  and 
fastidious  judgment  are  united.  The  feeling  is  eager 
to  expend  itself  on  objects  which  the  imagination  has 
invested  with  qualities  they  do  not  possess,  and  from 
which  the  judgment  soon  recoils.  There  is  the  whole 
story." 

"  You  say  that  very  coolly,  but  have  you  any  idea 
what  a  wretched,  disenchanting  kind  of  thing  it  is,  the 
strife  between  imagination  and  judgment ;  how  tired 
one  grows  of  finding  people  different  from  what  one 
has  conceived  them  to  be,  until  at  last  one  grows  hard, 
cold,  and  skeptical  ? " 

Looking  at  her,  he  saw  in  her  eyes,  as  he  heard  in 
her  tone,  how  much  she  had  suffered  under  the  process 


AMOXG   TEE  PINES.  125 

thus  briefly  described.     The  perception  made  his  own 
voice  very  gentle  as  he  answered : 

"  I  think  I  understand.  What  you  have  borne  has 
been  that  penalty  of  isolation  which  all  who  are  formed 
in  a  finer  mold  than  their  fellows  must  endure.  How 
heavy  a  penalty  it  is  only  those  who  have  suffered  it 
know. )  But  it  is  enough  to  suffer  without  adding  self- 
blame." 

She  gazed  at  him  wistfully.  "-  There  is  no  quality 
which  I  admire  so  much  as  constancy,"  she  said  ; 
"  and  it  is  the  one  in  which  I  am  absolutely  lack- 
mg." 

"  There  must  be  certain  qualities  to  inspire  confi- 
dence," he  replied.  "  AYould  you  have  one  constant  to 
something  which  one's  judgment  condemned  ?  I  should 
call  that  folly,  not  fidelity.  The  last  is  a  beautiful  vir- 
tue, but  a  great  deal  of  nonsense  passes  current  under 
its  name.  Do  not  let  your  supposed  inconstancy  trouble 
you.  Believe  me,  when  you  find  that  which  is  worthy 
of  faith,  you  will  be  faithful." 

"  Shall  I  ?  "  She  gave  a  quick  glance  at  him  as  if 
she  would  read  all  that  he  was  thinking  or  feeling,  and 
then  looked  back  once  more  at  the  fading  sunset.  "  It 
is  almost  gone,"  she  said,  indicating  the  dying  color, 
"and  we  must  be  going.  But  let  me  say  once,  Mr. 
Lysle,  what  I  have  not  said  yet — how  deeply  I  feel  all 
your  kindness,  your  interest — " 

He  lifted  his  hand  with  a  gesture  that  silenced  her. 
"  I  beg  of  you,  not  a  word  ! "  he  said.  "  A  year  hence 
you  may  tell  me  whether  or  not  you  thank  me  for  what 
I  have  done,  but  not  now.  There  is  too  much  uncer- 
tainty in  the  future." 


12(3  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

''  Whatever  it  holds,  your  intention  to  serve  me  re- 
mains the  same." 

''  Yes ;  but  we  judge  in  this  world  not  by  intention, 
but  by  result.  Wait !  When  we  look  at  our  next  sun- 
set together,  you  may  be  able  to  speak  with  more  cer- 
tainty of  what  you  owe  or  do  not  owe  to  me." 


BOOK  11. 

''IN   TWILIGHT    OF    THE   ILEX.'' 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  Marchesa  Ferrata  was,  as  Ljsle  had  said,  famil- 
iar with  many  places,  but  there  was  only  one  place 
which  she  called  home,  and  that  was  the  beautiful  Yilla 
Ferrata,  which  stood  on  the  hills  above  Florence,  and 
looked  down  on  the  Yal  d'Amo  spreading  in  rich  love- 
hness  toward  the  vine  and  olive  girt  heights  that  en- 
compass it,  on  the  historic  river  that  flows  by  the  palaces 
and  under  the  bridges  of  Florence,  on  the  marvelous 
dome  of  Brunelleschi  and  the  lily  tower  of  Giotto  rising 
out  of  golden  mist  and  dominating  that  city  which  is 
the  wonder  of  the  world,  and  on  the  mountains  which, 
spreading  afar  into  amethystine  distance,  range  over 
range  and  peak  above  peak,  guard  forever  this  paradise 
of  earthly  beauty. 

The  scene  was  familiar  enough  to  Lysle,  as  he  left 
Florence  overflowing  with  light  and  fragrance  one  day 
of  spring,  and  drove  out  toward  the  villa.  All  the  ex- 
quisite charm  of  the  awakening  of  ]^ature — that  awak- 
ening which  is  nowhere  so  enchanting  as  in  Italy — was 


128  MISS  CHURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

around  liiin.  The  fields  were  green  with  springing 
cereals,  the  hill-sides  were  carpeted  with  hyacinths,  daffo- 
dils, and  sweet  wild  narcissi,  the  frnit-trees  were  out  in 
a  cloud  of  delicate-tinted  bloom,  the  olive-trees  turned 
their  silvery  leaves  to  the  light,  the  hills  were  bathed 
in  diviuest  color,  and  at  every  curve  of  the  road  a  new 
picture  opened  to  the  gaze.  It  was  all  familiar,  yet  he 
found  himself  regarding  it  with  the  eyes  of  one  who 
looked  on  it  for  the  first  time ;  and  he  said  to  himself 
that  its  surpassing  loveliness,  its  classic  charm,  and  the 
glamour  of  varied  history,  poetry,  and  romance  might 
render  it  almost  intoxicating  to  one  who  came  for  the 
first  time  to  so  rich  a  feast. 

How  was  it  with  Cecil  ?  He  could  hardly  imagine, 
though  his  mind  was  full  of  conjectures.  He  had  not 
seen  her  since  they  parted  among  the  solemn  pines  be- 
yond the  AYestem  ocean ;  and,  although  he  had  heard 
from  her  now  and  then  in  the  interval,  her  letters  had 
told  him  little  of  what  he  most  wished  to  know.  He 
understood  why  this  had  been.  She  was  in  a  period  of 
transition,  when  one  impression  followed  another  with 
bewildering  rapidity,  and  the  changed  conditions  of  her 
life  produced  a  mental  confusion  that  for  a  time  ren- 
dered it  impossible  for  her  to  analyze  her  own  sensations 
and  opinions.  She  had  made  no  attempt  to  do  so  in 
her  letters  to  him.  They  had  been  very  brief,  and  al- 
together conventional.  In  fulfillment  of  a  promise,  she 
wrote  when  all  arrangements  for  her  departure  had  been 
made,  and  she  was  on  the  point  of  sailing  from  Ameri- 
ca, again  when  (having  landed  at  Havre)  she  met  the 
marchesa  in  Paris,  and  yet  again,  for  the  last  time, 
when  they  were  established  at  Florence.     "  I  feel  like 


''IJSr  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXr  129 

one  who  lives  and  moves  and  lias  her  being  in  a  dream," 
she  said  in  this  last  letter,  "  quite  incapable  of  telling 
yon  anything  except  that  the  marchesa  is  as  kind  as  she 
is  charming,  and  that  the  life  in  which  I  find  myseK  is 
all  that  you  painted  it.  I  am  too  unfamiliar  with  it  as 
yet  to  formulate  any  impressions,  however,  or  to  tell 
you  anything  of  its  effect  upon  myself.  You  must 
wait  for  that,  and,  meanwhile,  beKeve  that  my  sense  of 
the  great  service  you  have  rendered  me  deepens  daily." 

Three  months  had  passed  since  that  letter  was  dated, 
and  now  he  was  about  to  see  for  himself  how  it  was 
with  her.  The  marchesa  had  written  of  the  agreeable 
impression  the  young  stranger  made  upon  her,  but  this 
again  told  him  nothing ;  and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  he 
found  himself  unable  to  imagine  how  the  great  change 
which  he  had  brought  about  had  aSected  the  girl  who, 
six  months  before,  stood  by  the  road-side  under  the 
pines  and  welcomed  him  as  he  drove  out  from  Oldfield. 

Six  months — and  what  a  change!  Again  it  was 
with  her  eyes,  not  his  own,  that  he  looked  at  the  green 
and  golden  beauty  of  the  fairest  scene  in  the  world,  at 
the  dreamful  plains  and  the  azure  mountains,  at  the 
hills  dark  with  the  shadow  of  chestnut  and  ilex,  at  the 
walled  roads  and  the  old  stone  bridges,  at  the  gleaming 
villages  upon  their  heights,  with  the  convent-towers 
above,  and  at  the  distant  domes  and  spires  which  repre- 
sented to  the  imagination  all  the  warlike  splendor,  the 
infinite  grace,  and  the  divine  genius  of  Florence.  It 
was  amid  such  scenes  as  these  that  he  had  fancied  her, 
that  he  had  dreamed  of  her,  and  now  the  time  had 
come  to  put  the  touch  of  reality  to  his  dreams. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  he  shrank  a  little  from 


130  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

that  touch.  Eager  as  he  was,  he  yet  feared  the  result. 
He  had  known  so  many  disappointments,  so  many  illu- 
sions had  perished  with  him,  that  he  dreaded  the  loss 
of  another.  "Would  Cecil,  who  had  seemed  so  simple, 
so  noble,  so  fitted  for  the  highest  things  and  places  of 
life,  seem  perhaps  out  of  place  and  out  of  harmony  here 
where  the  culture  of  ages  had  produced  the  finest  re- 
sults ?  He  did  not  fear  it,  he  only  thought  of  it  as 
possible,  knowing  the  tendency  of  life  to  disappoint 
our  dreams  and  make  a  mockery  of  our  expectations. 

When  the  carriage — which  had  been  sent  by  the 
marchesa  to  meet  him  in  Florence — rolled  into  the 
gates  of  the  villa,  he  looked  out  eagerly.  Would  the 
figure,  that  had  stood  under  the  pines  on  that  October 
day,  meet  him  now  with  the  spring  sunshine  around  it  ? 
He  knew  that  it  was  not  likely,  yet  he  had  a  sense  of 
disappointment  when  he  saw  the  broad  terrace  with  its 
stone  steps  altogether  empty,  and  when  only  a  servant 
stepped  from  the  loggia  to  receive  him. 

He  was  conducted  at  once  to  a  room  which  he  knew 
well — the  boudoir  of  the  marchesa,  where  only  her 
most  intimate  friends  were  admitted.  It  opened  out  of 
the  suite  of  reception-rooms — such  noble,  lofty  rooms 
as  are  found  only  in  Italian  palaces — but  was  itself  a 
small  and  charming  apartment,  hung  with  satin,  and 
filled  with  everything  that  a  taste  cultivated  to  the 
verge  of  extreme  refinement  would  be  likely  to  gather. 
Pictures,  delicate  old  ivory  carving,  books  in  overflow- 
ing abundance,  and  flowers  in  profusion,  were  there ; 
while  the  deep  windows  looked  out  on  the  purple  beau- 
ty of  the  distant  hills.  A  small  fire  of  logs  blazed  on 
the  hearth,  for,  bright  and  warm  as  the  day  was  outside, 


"m  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEX^  131 

a  cliill  jet  lingered  within  these  great  stone  walls  built 
to  resist  the  heats  of  summer,  and  in  a  low  deep  chair 
by  this  fire  sat  a  lady  who  looked  up  with  an  exclama- 
tion of  pleasure  when  the  servant  who  drew  back  the 
portiere  announced  Mr.  Lysle. 

"  My  dear  Bernard/'  she  said,  rising, ''  how  charmed 
I  am  to  see  you ! " 

''  And  I  to  return  once  more  to  you,"  he  said,  kiss- 
ing the  hand  she  gave  him. 

She  smiled  a  little.  "  Is  it  exactly  to  me  that  you 
have  returned  ?  "  she  asked.  "  But  no  matter.  I  am 
unselfish  enough — or  selfish  enough,  which  is  it  ? — to 
be  glad  to  see  you,  for  whatever  reason  you  come.  Sit 
down,  and  you  shall  have  a  cup  of  tea  in  a  moment."" 

He  sat  down,  and  looked  at  her  with  a  smile.  If  he 
felt  a  thrill  of  disappointment  that  no  one  else  was  pres- 
ent to  greet  him,  there  was  no  sign  of  it  in  his  face  or 
manner.  Indeed,  he  spoke  truly  when  he  said  that  it  was 
always  a  pleasure  to  him  to  return  to  this  woman,  who 
long  ago  had  taught  him  what  an  education  there  may 
be  in  the  friendship  and  intimacy  of  such  a  woman  as 
herself.  In  his  boyhood  he  had  adored  her  as  a  boy 
adores  the  goddess  who  stands  far  above  him,  and  she 
had  responded  to  his  homage  with  the  frankest  and 
kindest  interest — that  interest  easily  kindled  in  a  woman 
of  intellect  by  youth  with  a  touch  of  genius.  The  ar- 
dent, undimmed  passion  of  such  youth  has  sometimes 
a  strange  power  to  touch  and  fascinate  women  who 
have  known  most  of  the  world,  but  Ida,  Marchesa  del 
Ferrata  was  not  a  woman  whom  any  passion  could 
touch,  to  more  than  sympathy  and  compassion.  One 
supreme  passion  her  heart  had  known,  and  that  for  the 


132  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY, 

man  wliom  she  had  married — the  finest  and  highest 
type  of  an  Italian  noble,  with  the  elevation  of  charac- 
ter, the  infinite  gentleness,  and  the  courtly  dignity  which 
in  comparison  make  all  other  men,  and  especially  men 
of  the  arrogant  Anglo-Saxon  race,  seem  like  boors.  A 
few  short  years  of  happiness  were  granted  her  with  this 
man,  and  then  he  had  died,  leaving  her  still  young,  still 
beautiful,  with  all  her  immense  wealth  and  a  broken 
heart.  She  might  have  made  any  alliance  that  she 
chose,  but  as  time  went  on  the  world  began  to  perceive 
that  no  alliance,  however  brilliant,  would  tempt  her, 
men  grew  weary  of  courting  rejection,  and  it  was  at 
length  clearly  understood  that  she  would  never  marry 
again.  She  was  strong  enough,  however,  to  take  her 
life,  after  its  greatest  good  had  gone  out  of  it,  and 
strive  to  make  interests  for  herself  of  such  good  as  re- 
mained. She  cultivated  her  intellectual  and  artistic 
tastes  to  the  utmost,  her  wealth  and  her  rank  opened 
to  her  every  circle  worth  knowing  in  every  country  of 
Europe ;  but  that  which  she  liked  best  was  to  find  her- 
self at  home  on  her  husband's  estate,  in  the  old  Ferrata 
villa,  surrounded  by  the  people  who  had  loved  and 
mourned  him  with  that  touching  feudal  devotion  which 
still  exists  in  Italy  between  the  lords  of  the  soil  and 
those  who  dwell  upon  it.  Here  she  could  do  all  that 
he  had  wished  to  do— all  that  they  had  dreamed  and 
planned  in  the  brief  time  granted  them  together— and 
find  her  own  happiness  in  making  the  happiness  of 
others. 

She  was  a  very  beautiful  woman  still,  though  she 
had  passed  by  some  years  the  age  that  Lysle  had  vague- 
ly assigned  to  her.     There  was  no  mistaking  her  Greek 


"A\^  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXy  133 

descent.  It  showed  itself  in  tlie  classic  grace  of  her 
features,  in  the  classic  poise  of  her  head,  and  in  the  full 
beauty  of  her  large  dark  eyes.  Those  eyes  were  look- 
ing now  with  a  very  kindly  scrutiny  at  the  young  man 
before  her. 

"  You  are  wondering,  no  doubt,  where  Cecil  is,"  she 
said.  "  We  did  not  look  for  you  so  soon,  and  she  has 
not  returned  from  an  excursion  to  Certosa.  It  has 
been  talked  of  for  several  days,  and  the  morning  was 
60  fine  that  they  thought  it  best  not  to  defer  it  longer." 

" '  They  ! '     You  have  guests,  then  ? " 

"I  am  seldom  without  them,  you  know — at  least  at 
this  season.  But  only  Xina  and  Carlo  are  with  me  at 
present,  though  we  have  many  visitors  from  Florence." 

"  !N'aturally.  And  have  Nina  and  Carlo  taken  Miss 
Churchill  to  Certosa  ? " 

"  Yes — with  Herbert  Dorrian.  He  has  been  here 
tbis  winter,  and  we  see  a  good  deal  of  him." 

Lysle  did  not  say  again,  "  ]N"aturally,"  though  he 
might  readily  have  done  so.  For  what  was  more  nat- 
ural than  that  Dorrian,  whom  he  knew  well  as  the  most 
fastidious  and  art-loving  of  dilettante,  should  find  him- 
self in  his  element  at  the  Yilla  Ferrata  ?  He  made  no 
comment  on  the  statement,  and  indeed  a  diversion  was 
created  at  the  moment  by  the  entrance  of  a  servant 
bringing  tea. 

As  he  received  the  fragrant  cup  which  she  prepared 

for  him,  the  marchesa  said  :  ^'  What  is  the  meaning  of 

that  hint  in  your  letter  that  you  can  only  give  me  a 

day  or  two  ?     I  shall  be  here  for  another  month,  and 

you  know  how  delighted  I  will  be  if  you  can  remain 

for  that  length  of  time," 
12 


13i  MISS  GHUECHILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  Do  not  tempt  me ! "  he  answered,  as  a  swift  vision 
passed  before  liis  eyes  of  all  that  a  month  might  hold 
— here,  in  enchanted  Italy — of  pleasm*e  and  happiness. 
"  I  am  on  my  way  to  Egypt.  Important  events  are 
looked  for  soon,  and  I  have  been  selected  for  the  honor 
of  a  special  mission.  Positive  information  is  wanted 
Immediately,  so  you  see  a  day  or  two  is  the  very  utmost 
indulgence  that  I  can  allow  myself." 

"  Are  you  sent  by  the  Government  ? " 

"Indirectly,  yes.  They  need  information  which 
their  official  agents  are  not  able  to  give,  and  which  they 
think  I  can  obtain." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  too  1 " 

"  I  should  not  have  accepted  the  mission  if  I  did 
not  think  so.  There  are  some  strings  in  the  tangled 
affairs  of  Egypt  that  I  have  learned  to  pull.  There  is 
one  man  in  England  who  might  have  better  opportuni- 
ties of  knowledge  than  I  have — but  I  think  only  one." 

"  And  he  is  not  there  ?  " 

A  moment's  pause,  during  which  both  sipped  their 
tea,  and  the  soft  noise  of  the  fire  filled  the  silence.  But 
presently  the  marchesa  lifted  her  full,  brilliant  glance 
to  her  companion's  face. 

"  Under  these  circumstances,"  she  said,  "  it  is  very 
good  of  you  to  have  given  us  even  a  day  or  two.  I 
understand  why  you  have  done  so.  Bernard,  may  I 
speak  frankly?" 

His  glance  met  hers.  "  There  is  nothing  you  could 
ask  which  I  should  refuse  to  answer,"  he  said. 

"  That  gives  me  leave  to  ask  what  I  will  ?  Then, 
to  save  time — for  we  may  be  interrupted — I  shall  go  at 


"/iV  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEX."'  I35 

once  to  tlie  heart  of  tilings.  I  know  that  yon  love  this 
girl  whom  you  have  placed  with  me ;  are  you  also  en- 
gaged to  her?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  answered,  with  decision.  "  Why 
should  you  think  of  such  a  thing  'I  " 

"  Why  should  I  not  ?  It  seems  possible.  You  can 
not  deny  that  yon  are  in  love  with  her." 

"I  have  no  wish  to  deny  it.  But  she  knows  noth- 
ing of  it — at  least,  from  me.  One  can  never  answer 
for  what  a  woman's  instinct  may  tell  her.  How  has 
yours  revealed  this  to  you  ? " 

"  Did  you  think  me  so  stupid  as  not  to  be  able  to 
read  between  the  lines  of  that  letter  in  which  you  de- 
scribed her  to  me  and  implored  my  help  ?  What  but 
my  knowledge  of  that  would  have  made  me  offer  to 
take  charge  of  her  ?  " 

"I  was  simple  enough  to  think  that  your  kindness 
of  heart  induced  you  to  do  so. 

She  laughed  softly.  ''  Caro  mio^  kindness  of  heart 
might  have  made  me  offer  any  substantial  assistance  in 
my  power,  but  it  would  never  of  itself  have  induced 
me  to  dream  of  embarrassing  myself — it  might  have 
proved  a  very  serious  embarrassment — with  a  girl  whom 
I  never  saw,  and  who  did  not  belong  to  any  people  or 
any  society  of  which  I  had  the  least  knowledge,  who 
might  have  violated  every  decorum  of  civilized  Hfe — " 

"  You  surely  believed  me  when  I  set  your  mind  at 
ease  on  those  points  ?  "  he  interposed. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  beheved  you,  as  far  as  your  knowledge 
went.  But  how  could  I  tell  how  far  that  was  ?  If  her 
life  had  been  as  secluded  as  you  represented,  who  could 
say  how  she  would  bear  herself  when  suddenly  intro- 


136  ^ISS  CnURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

duced  into  a  world  for  wliicli  slie  had  no  training,  no 
preparation  ?  I  assure  you,  I  shivered  while  I  wrote  that 
letter.  And  nothing  but  my  interest,  my  affection  for 
you,  made  me  write  it.  I  was  determined  that,  if  you 
cared  for  the  girl,  I  would  do  all  I  could  to  render  her 
worthy  of  you.'' 

He  leaned  forward,  and,  taking  one  of  the  beautiful 
hands  that  lay  in  her  lap,  kissed  it  again.  "  What  a 
friend  you  are !  What  a  friend  you  have  been  to  me 
always ! "  he  said.  "  I  knew  I  could  rely  on  you  for 
aid  ;  yet,  if  I  had  suspected  that  you  shivered  with  such 
apprehension,  I  should  never  have  asked  or  accepted  it. 
And,  when  you  saw  her,  what  then  ?  " 

"  Then  I  realized  what  I  suppose  I  should  have 
known  from  the  first,  that  you  were  not  a  man  to  make 
mistakes — at  least,  not  of  a  certain  kind.  She  had 
much  to  learn,  of  course — the  habits,  customs,^^  ne  sais 
quoi  of  the  world,  and  into  all  she  has  fallen  with  the 
utmost  ease  and  rapidity.  But  the  essentials  of  fine 
breeding  were  already  hers — instinct,  manner,  bearing 
— to  a  wonderful  degree." 

Lysle's  eyes  gave  a  soft,  luminous  flash.  lie  re- 
membered how  he  had  once  prophesied  to  Cecil  for  her 
reassurance  much  such  a  verdict  as  this.  Would  all  his 
other  prophecies  prove  as  true  ? 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  I  knew  that.  I  knew  the 
people  of  whom  she  came.  You  did  not,  so  your  fears 
were  excusable.  But  the  rest — her  character,  her  men- 
tal qualities  ?     How  have  they  impressed  you  ? " 

"As  much  as  you  could  desire.  Genius  is  so  rare 
that  it  must  impress  one  whenever  one  meets  it ;  and, 
like  yourself,  I  have  seen  too  much  of  the  intellectual 


"AY  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEXy  I37 

world  not  to  recognize  tlie  signs  of  sometliing  very  re- 
markable here.  She  has  the  true  artistic  nature,  but 
whether  or  not  she  has  the  creatine  power  I  can  not  tell 
— no  one  can  tell  until  the  test  is  made." 

"  The  test  has  been  made.     She  possesses  it." 

'^  Then  there  may  be  a  brilliant  future  before  her — 
it  is  impossible  to  doubt  that.  But,  Bernard,  forgive 
me  if  I  remind  you — now,  while  she  stands  on  the 
threshold  of  it — that  such  futures  are  very  likely  to 
unfit  a  woman  for  the  ordinary  lot  of  her  sex.  If  you 
love  her,  take  her  before  she  has  entered  on  it.  And 
it  will  be  better  for  your  happiness  if  she  never  enters 
it  at  all." 

He  paled  a  little.  How  the  same  advice  met  him 
everywhere  !  This  woman  of  the  world,  knowing  the 
world  to  its  core,  echoed  the  words  which  honest  Hugh 
Churchill  had  uttered  in  the  remote  Southern  pine-land. 
Why  could  none  of  them  understand?  Why  would 
none  of  them  believe  that  his  own  happiness  was  not 
the  end  which  he  had  in  view  ? 

"  You  draw  a  very  natural  conclusion,"  he  said,  after 
a  short  silence,  "  but  I  think  you  will  comprehend  when 
I  tell  you  that  it  was  with  no  view  of  preparing  a  wife 
for  myself  that  I  tried  to  enlist  your  interest  for  Miss 
Churchill.  What  I  desired  then,  what  I  desire  now,  is 
to  give  a  rare  and  finely  gifted  nature  the  opportunity 
to  develop  in  the  life  suited  to  it.  I  believe  in  that 
brilliant  future  which  you  presage,  and  nothing  would 
induce  me  to  take  one  step  to  hinder  it.  To  hinder  it, 
do  I  say  ?  There  is  nothing  which  I  could  do  to  render 
it  assured  that  I  would  not  do!  If  you  could  have 
known  this  spirit  as  I  Iniew  it  first — prisoned,  starving, 


138  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

hopeless,  with  no  outlet  for  the  powers  and  the  aspira- 
tions which  burned  like  a  hidden  lire  —  you  would 
understand  the  longing  which  I  felt  to  release  it,  to 
give  it  scope  and  liberty.  And,  having  done  this,  hav- 
ing opened  the  door  of  one  prison,  do  you  think  I  would 
ask  her  to  enter  another  because  it  was  gilded  with  love 
— if,  indeed,  a  passion  so  sellish  could  deserve  the 
name  ? " 

"  A  prison  !  Would  you  call  union  with  your  life 
that  f  " 

"  Yes,  because  even  my  life  would  make  demands 
upon  hers  that  would  deprive  it  of  the  ideal  liberty  I 
desire  for  her.  Perhaps  I  have  the  partial  fondness  of 
the  discoverer,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  one  is  not  likely 
to  find  a  Cecil  Churchill  twice  in  existence,  and  I  wish 
to  see  if  she  will  justify  all  my  hopes  of  her,  all  my  be- 
lief in  her.  Happiness  would  be  too  dearly  gained 
which  was  bought  at  the  price  of  laying  a  single  fetter 
upon  her  newly  won  freedom." 

The  marchesa  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  looked 
at  him  as  if  she  could  hardly  decide  whether  to  laugh 
or  expostulate.  She  knew  him  too  well  to  doubt  how 
thoroughly  he  was  in  earnest,  and  perhaps  it  was  the 
realization  of  this  which  made  her  at  length  say,  gravely : 

"  My  dear  Bernard,  yon  force  me  to  ask,  what  do 
you  propose  as  the  final  end  of  your  love  ? " 

^'I  propose  nothing,"  he  answered,  quietly.  "I 
leave  its  final  end  to  Fate— to  the  future.  BeHeve  me 
when  I  say  again  that  it  was  with  no  thought  of  my- 
self I  opened  her  prison.  I  should  have  done  it  if  I 
had  not  loved  her,  and  I  would  not  suffer  my  love  to 
prevent  my  doing  it." 


"  /iT  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXy  139 

*'  You  are  too  quixotic.  If  jou  love  lier,  you  should 
assert  your  influence  while  it  is  still  strong  with  her. 
And  it  is  strong  now.  But  after  a  while,  if  it  does  not 
increase,  it  must,  with  widened  knowledge  of  the  world 
and  of  men,  grow  less.     You  know  that." 

He  bent  his  head  in  assent.  "  I  know  it  well ;  and 
that  will  be  the  test.  I  would  rather  lose  her  than  win 
her  through  her  ignorance." 

The  marchesa  lifted  her  hand  with  a  gesture  of  im- 
patience. "  You  talk  like  a  boy  ! "  she  said.  "  Has 
not  life  taught  you  better  than  such  uncompromising 
ideas  ?  He  who  insists  upon  everything  gains  noth- 
ing. He  who  puts  his  happiness  to  unwise  tests, 
loses  it." 

"So  be  it."  He  rose  to  his  feet  and  stood  before 
her,  smiling  slightly.  "  You  insisted  upon  knowing — 
no,  forgive  me,  you  did  not  insist,  but  you  desired  to 
know  my  position  toward  Miss  Churchill.  Here  is 
what  it  is — a  friend  infinitely  interested  in  her  welfare, 
who  hopes  that  you  will  not  regret  your  kindness  now 
that  you  know  the  truth." 

"  ^N'o,"  she  answered  slowly — "  no,  I  do  not  regret 
it,  for  I  too  am  interested  now,  and  she  really  proves 
all  that  I  desired  as  a  companion.  But  she  would  not 
be  here  if  I  had  not  thought  I  was  serving  you.^"^ 

"  And  so  you  are  serving  me — most  deeply.  Have 
I  talked  to  so  little  purpose  that  you  doubt  it  ? " 

"Ah  !  I  mean  serving  you  as  a  woman  best  likes  to 
serve  a  man  to  whom  she  is  attached  as  I  am  attached 
to  you  —  serving  you  by  helping  you  to  that  which 
your  heart  desires.  But  I  begin  to  doubt  if  your 
heart  really  desires  this.    Instinctively  a  man  puts  out 


140  MISS  CnUEGHILL:    A  STUDY. 

his  hand  and  grasps  what  he  desires  with  tnie  strength 
of  passion." 

Lysle,  looking  down  at  the  brands  on  tlie  hearth, 
was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said,  ''  Perhaps  jou 
are  right.  Yery  likely  I  have  not  the  true  strength  of 
passion.  Eut  do  I  not  hear  voices  approaching  ?  And 
there  is  Nina's  langh.     One  can  not  mistake  that." 


CHAPTER  II. 

It  was  a  laugh  sweet  as  a  peal  of  silver  bells,  and 
child-like  in  its  suggestion  of  light-hearted  gayety.  The 
next  moment  the  opening  door  revealed  a  figure  alto- 
gether in  keeping  with  the  laugh — a  small,  dainty  per- 
son exquisitively  dressed,  a  face  of  the  freshest,  most 
Greuze-like  type  of  beauty,  framed  by  a  cloud  of  golden 
hair.  iS^ina,  Contessa  Salvieri,  was  the  niece  to  whom 
the  marchesa  had  alluded  in  that  letter  to  Lysle  in 
which  she  declared  that  she  needed  some  one  to  fill  her 
vacant  place.  The  child  of  the  marchesa's  half-sister, 
she  was  altogether  English,  and  having  been  left  an 
orphan  with  a  slender  inhentance,  had  been  adopted  by 
her  aunt  and  brought  up  in  the  cosmopolitan  atmos- 
phere in  which  the  latter  lived.  She  had  lately  mar- 
ried a  young  Roman,  who  followed  her  into  the  room, 
and  whose  delicate  dark  grace  contrasted  well  with  her 
blonde  riante  loveliness.  She  smiled  brightly  when 
she  saw  Lysle. 

"■  So  here  you  are  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  How  de- 
lightful to  see  you  again  !  Why  have  you  not  come 
before  ?     "We  have  been  expecting  you  so  long ! " 

"  Is  it  possible  you  have  given  a  thought  to  any  one 
outside  your  own  charmed  circle?"  he  said.  ^' That 
was  very  good  of  you.    Happiness  usually  makes  people 


142  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

selfish  J  and  one  lias  but  to  look  at  jou  to  perceive  that 
you  are  happy." 

"  Was  I  ever  anything  else  ? "  she  asked,  naively. 
"  But  that  was  comparative,  and  this  is  superlative. 
Carlo  mio,  I  believe  you  know  my  cousin,  Bernard 
Lysle." 

The  young  count  with  much  grace  replied  that  he 
had  met  M.  Lysle ;  and  while  the  two  men  exchanged 
courteous  speeches  in  the  language  which  lends  itself 
most  readily  to  compliment,  Lysle  found  himself  watch- 
ing the  door  for  Cecil's  entrance. 

A  moment  later  she  appeared,  and  as  she  entered 
what  a  thrill  passed  through  him !  He  knew  himself 
so  well  that  he  was  aware  how  much  depended  upon 
the  first  impression  she  would  make — whether  it  was 
of  disappointment  or  of  realization.  If  she  had  seemed 
to  him  beautiful  when  they  had  walked  together  in  the 
pine- woods,  or  he  had  seen  her  in  the  little  rustic  school- 
room, which  was  so  strange  a  memory  to  connect  with 
her,  what  did  she  seem  now,  in  surroundings  that  would 
have  brought  into  immediate  relief  the  least  failure 
in  grace  of  bearing  or  ease  of  manner  ? 

He  said  to  himself  that  those  old  walls  had  never 
looked  down  upon  a  presence  better  fitted  to  dwell 
within  them.  As  she  entered  with  an  unconscious 
grace  which  had  always  belonged  to  her,  her  dress  bear- 
ing the  stamp  of  highest  elegance  yet  infinitely  pictur- 
esque in  the  soft  folds  that  draped  her  slender  form, 
with  her  pale,  clear  cheek  faintly  flushed  like  a  Malmai- 
son  rose,  her  rich  hair  showing  under  the  dark  plumes 
of  her  hat,  and  her  hands  full  of  wild  hyacinths  and 
narcissi,  she  was  a  figure  thoroughly  in  harmony  with 


''IN  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXy  143 

all  the  stateliness  and  luxury  around  her.  The  mar- 
chesa  herself  was  not  more  simply  and  nobly  beautiful. 
Lysle's  heart  gave  a  throb  of  triumph  and  unselfish 
pleasure.  These  were  the  scenes  in  which  Nature  had 
fitted  her  to  move,  and  it  was  his  hand  which  had 
placed  her  here  !  He  felt  at  this  moment  that  to  have 
done  so  was  enough. 

She  did  not  perceive  him  immediately ;  she  was 
smiling  at  some  low-toned  remark  of  her  companion — 
a  tall,  pale,  slender  man,  whose  extreme  distinction  of 
appearance  was  the  only  thing  remarkable  about  him. 
But  when  she  turned  her  eyes  toward  the  group  at  the 
fire,  a  sudden  light  came  into  them,  and  with  quick 
impulsiveness  she  moved  forward,  crying  eagerly : 

"  Oh,  you  have  come !  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you 
—at  last ! " 

He  met  her  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  took  her 
flower-filled  hands  within  his  own.  At  that  moment 
he  would  have  given  much  to  be  alone  with  her ;  to  be 
at  liberty  to  hft  those  hands  to  his  lips ;  to  say — what 
would  he  have  said  ?  Perhaps  it  was  as  well  that  there 
were  ears  around  to  be  considered.  He  smiled  a  little 
— the  well-remembered  smile  which  seemed  to  trans- 
port her  as  if  by  magic  to  the  place  where  they  had 
parted. 

"Will  your  gladness  help  you  in  any  degree  to 
m^easure  mine?"  he  said.  "Can  you  imagine  how 
happy  I  am  to  see  you  again,  and  to  see  you  looking 
so  well  ? " 

"I  am  very  well,"  she  answered.  "Who  could  be 
other  than  well  here  ?  O,  Mr.  Lysle,  am  I  dreaming  ? 
Sometimes  I  think  I  must  be,  and  now  it  seems  to  me 


144  MISS  CHURGEILL:    A  STUDY. 

that,  if  I  close  my  ejes,  I  shall  hear  the  pines  murmur- 
ing above  mj  head." 

"  Do  not  close  them,  then  !  I  am  sorry  if  I  bring 
back  memories  of  the  prison;  but  one  can  not  help 
such  things.  And,  to  my  eyes,  all  the  sunshine  of  Italy 
is  about  you." 

She  smiled.  "  You  see  it,  then  ?  But  you  always 
see  everything.  I  know  that  of  old.  And  I  am  glad 
you  recognize  this,  since  I  never  forget  that  I  owe  all 
this  sunshine  to  your — " 

"  Good-fortune,"  he  interposed,  quickly.  "  Nothing 
more.  You  must  not  exaggerate  an  opportunity  into 
an  obligation.  I  was  simply  the  medium  to  bring  to- 
gether two  people  who  I  knew  would  suit  each  other." 

*'  I  hope  that  I  suit  the  marchesa,"  she  said,  simply. 
"  She  suits  me  as  I  never  imagined  any  woman  could. 
But  she  is  looking  at  us.  I  must  wait,  to  tell  you  all 
that  I  think  of  her,  until  she  is  not  so  near." 

"  And  there  is  much  besides  that  I  wish  to  hear  at 
the  first  convenient  season,"  he  observed,  as  they  moved 
toward  the  tea-table,  where  Contessa  Nina  was  handing 
a  cup  to  Mr.  Dorrian. 

Lysle  and  that  gentleman  shook  hands  with  the  sur- 
face cordiality  of  men  who  have  met  frequently,  but 
who  would  be  no  nearer  friendship  at  the  end  of  fifty 
years  than  they  were  at  the  beginning.  There  was,  in 
fact,  very  little  sympathy  between  them.  Lysle  had 
not  much  respect  for  a  man  who  could  find  no  better 
use  for  a  fine  fortune  and  undoubted  talents  than  to  live 
the  life  of  a  dilettante  in  foreign  cities,  gratifying  every 
taste  to  the  utmost,  and  acknowledging  no  law  but  his 
own  caprice ;  while  Dorrian  regarded  Lysle  as  one  who 


"AV  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEXy  145 

had  put  his  talents  into  a  harness  quite  unworthy  of 
them.  Of  the  love  of  adventure  which  had  made  the 
latter  run  many  risks,  he  had  no  comprehension.  To 
him  it  was  all  a  vulgar  seeking  of  notoriety,  a  casting 
life  and  ability  into  the  scales  of  the  money-changers. 
Having  himself  no  need  of  those  personages,  he  was 
contemptuous  of  those  who  had.  The  art  or  the  book 
that  was  "popular"  had  for  him  the  brand  of  con- 
demnation upon  it,  and,  of  course,  the  man  whose  ulti- 
mate end  was  that  of  making  money,  must  also  have 
for  his  ultimate  end  that  of  popularity.  This,  in  his 
mind,  admitted  of  no  question,  and,  from  the  high, 
serene  atmosphere  in  which  he  lived,  he  regarded  all 
such  men  with  a  disdain  which  did  not,  however,  inter- 
fere with  a  certain  tolerance  when  they  were  liked  or 
admired  by  the  world  in  which  he  moved. 

Such  a  tolerance  he  extended  to  Lysle ;  but,  while 
the  marchesa  and  her  niece  questioned  the  latter  about 
things  and  people  in  London,  he  drank  his  tea  in  silence. 
J^othing  interested  him  less  than  English  affairs.  He 
had  occasionally  been  known  to  characterize  his  coun- 
trymen as  ''  splendid  savages,"  but,  except  for  their  sav- 
age-like qualities  of  courage,  endurance,  and  daring,  he 
considered  them  with  a  scorn  somewhat  less  delicate 
than  that  of  Mr.  Ruskin.  Their  insular  narrowness — 
which  not  even  a  world-wide  empire  can  enlarge — their 
Philistinism  in  art,  their  love  of  bmtal  sports,  and  their 
arrogant  attitude  toward  races  and  nations  infinitely 
their  superiors  in  everything  except  material  prosperity, 
disgusted  the  man  whose  knowledge  was  cosmopolitan, 
and  whose  sympathies  were  refined  to  the  highest  de- 
gree. 

13 


146  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

Needless  to  say  that,  with  these  ideas,  he  was  looked 
upon  by  the  most  of  his  countrymen  with  whom  lie 
came  in  contact  as  an  effeminate  creature,  very  little,  if 
any,  better  than  a  foreigner.  But  to  Mr.  Dorrian  noth- 
ing on  earth,  or  of  the  things  beneath  the  earth,  mat- 
tered less  than  the  opinion  of  his  compatriots.  He 
habitually  avoided  them ;  and  it  is  not  too  much  to  affirm 
that  he  would  have  gone  to  Bagdad,  had  such  a  journey 
been  necessary,  to  escape  contact  with  the  "  English 
colony"  which  flourishes  in  most  Continental  cities. 
At  Florence  he  had  his  villa,  into  which  no  Philistine 
foot  ever  entered,  where  he  spent  the  greater  part  of 
his  existence  in  the  midst  of  a  rare  collection  of  beauti- 
ful things,  and  where  he  now  and  then  entertained  his 
cosmopolitan  friends,  who  were  chiefly  French,  Italian, 
and  Russian. 

It  is  only  necessary  to  say,  further,  that  he  had  long 
been  one  of  the  most  devoted  of  the  marchesa's  ad- 
mirers. Indeed,  at  one  time,  while  it  was  still  held 
possible  that  she  might  marry  again,  his  name  had  fre- 
quently been  connected  with  hers.  No  one  knew 
whether  or  not  he  had  ever  gone  so  far  as  to  offer  him- 
seK ;  but,  if  so,  the  fact  of  his  rejection  had  not  inter- 
fered with  their  friendly  relations.  He  remained  de- 
voted to  her  with  a  devotion  which  seemed  to  put 
marriage  with  any  one  else  out  of  the  question ;  while 
she,  perhaps,  knew  him  better  than  did  any  one  else  in 
the  world,  and  liked  him  well,  notwithstanding  his 
many  affectations. 

At  present,  however,  Lysle  did  not  fail  to  observe 
that,  while  he  drank  his  tea  in  silence,  his  eyes,  under 
their  drooping  lids,  were  turned  to  Cecil,  who,  also  in 


"/A^  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXy  I47 

silence,  sat  listening  to  the  conversation.  But  there  is 
a  silence  which  can  be  more  eloquent  than  any  words, 
and  such  was  this  of  hers.  Every  line  of  her  face,  and 
the  brightness  of  her  large  eyes,  showed  how  much  she 
was  interested  while  she  sat,  still  as  a  picture,  in  a  chair 
with  a  high,  carved  back,  which  threw  into  picture-like 
relief  the  fairness  of  her  face.  It  was  no  wonder  that 
Dorrian,  with  his  passion  for  all  beautiful  things,  should 
have  looked  at  her;  and,  although  Lysle  would  have 
repudiated  with  indignation  the  idea  that  he  had  any 
need  of  Dorrian's  judgment  to  confirm  his  own,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  that  this  admiring  gaze  told  him  how 
well  he  had  judged  in  assuring  Mrs.  Churchill  that 
Cecil's  beauty  was  of  a  kind  to  please  the  cultured  taste 
of  men  who  made  beauty  the  study  of  their  lives. 

"  Bernard  assures  me,"  said  the  marchesa,  presently, 
addressing  her  niece,  "that  he  can  not  give  us  more 
than  a  day  or  two.  What  shall  we  do,  then,  to  enter- 
tain him  best  ? " 

Contessa  l^ina  looked  at  him  like  a  pretty  bird,  with 
her  head  on  one  side.  "  Only  a  day  or  two  !  "  she  re- 
peated. "How  English  that  sounds!  You  need  to 
stay  in  Italy  for  a  time,  Bernardo  mio,  if  only  to  learn 
not  to  rush  through  life  in  that  dreadful  break-neck 
manner,  ^ow,  why  on  earth  should  it  be  only  a  day 
or  two  ?     Why  not  as  long  as  you  like  ? " 

"  Because,  my  dear  Nina,  I  have  promised  to  be  in 
Egypt  by  a  certain  date,  which  allows  me  here  only  the 
day  or  two  of  which  I  have  spoken." 

"  In  Egypt — to  be  grilled  alive  !  Oh,  what  a  man 
you  are!  Have  you  not  had  enough  of  those  awful 
places  ?     I  assure  you  that  to  read  your  descriptions  of 


148  ^ISS  CEURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

them  makes  mj  hair  stand  on  end.  If  we  have  only 
one  life  to  live,  why  spend  it  in  deserts,  on  camels,  and 
in  dan^rers  of  all  kinds  ?  " 

Lysle  laughed.  ''  Why,  indeed  ? — except  that  some 
one  must  do  such  things,  and  I,  strange  as  it  may 
appear  to  you,  like  the  deserts,  the  camels,  and  even 
the  dangers.  But  the  only  danger  in  the  mission  on 
which  I  now  go  is  the  danger  of  blundering." 

"  And  that  you  will  never  do,"  said  she  with  confi- 
dence.    "  It  is  not  possible  to  you." 

"  Ah,  I  wish  that  I  were  sure  of  that !  "  he  said, 
glancing  involuntarily  at  Cecil.  "  But  it  is  something 
of  which  no  man  can  be  sure." 

"  A  mistake  is  one  thing,  and  a  blunder  is  another," 
said  the  marchesa.  "  I  agree  with  Nina  that  the  last 
is  impossible  to  you,  though  the  first  may  not  be. 
There  is  something  clumsy  in  a  blunder  ;  and  you  are 
never  clumsy,  my  dear  Bernard.  But  she  has  given  no 
answer  to  my  question,  how  we  shall  best  entertain 
you." 

*'  I  hope  that  Kina  knows — I  should  certainly  have 
expected  you  to  know — that  I  require  no  entertainment 
beyond  the  pleasure  of  being  with  you,"  he  said,  quick- 
ly. "  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  make  up  any  parties, 
have  any  dinners,  or  go  on  any  excursions  on  my 
account ! " 

The  marchesa  laughed.  "  Don't  you  think  you 
might  trust  us  not  to  bore  you  ?  "  she  said.  "  But  rest 
tranquil ;  nothing  shall  be  done  on  your  account  that 
would  not  have  been  done  in  any  event.  "We  do  not 
exactly  live  in  a  hermitage,  you  know ;  and  it  is  the 
season  now  for  alfresco  amusements." 


*'AY  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEX:'  149 

"  I  think  jou  would  have  liked  it  if  jou  had  been 
with  us  at  Certosa  to-day,"  said  Cecil. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  smile.  "  Ah,  yes — I  am 
sure  I  should  have  liked  it  at  Certosa,"  he  said.  "  Why 
did  you  not  wait  for  me  %  AYe  could  have  gone  to- 
morrow." 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Dorrian,  speaking  for  the  first 
time,  in  his  languid  voice,  "  the  ladies  have  kindly 
promised  to  visit  my  villa.  I  hope  you  can  be  induced 
to  come  also.     I  shall  be  charmed  to  see  you." 

Lysle  murmured  an  acceptance — there  was  nothing 
else  to  do — and  then  moved  with  quiet  determination 
over  to  Cecil. 

"  When  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  being  here  be- 
fore," he  said,  "  I  thought  that  the  gardens  of  this  villa 
were  as  lovely  as  any  in  Italy.  I  suppose  they  have 
lost  none  of  their  charm,  but  I  should  like  to  satisfy 
myself  on  the  point.  We  have  taken  many  walks  to- 
gether under  the  pines — do  you  feel  inclined  to  take 
one  under  the  ilex  \ " 

"  Yery  much,"  she  answered,  rising  without  the 
slightest  hesitation  of  look  or  manner.  "  We  have  just 
time  for  a  turn  in  the  ilex  avenue  before  it  is  necessary 
to  dress  for  dinner." 


CHAPTEK  III. 

If  there  is  anything  in  the  world  more  beautiful 
than  an  Italian  garden,  where  shall  one  go  to  find  it  ? 
In  its  formality  there  is  a  classic  grace,  in  its  wildness 
a  poetical  charm  which  all  other  gardens,  let  them  be 
beautiful  as  they  may,  of  necessity  lack.  In  the  noble 
ilex  shades  Yirgil  and  Horace  seem  to  walk ;  over  the 
moss-grown,  naiad-guarded  fountains  Petrarch  might 
muse ;  along  the  stately  terraces  Kaphael  might  move, 
looking  at  the  silvery  loveliness  of  the  nearer  olive 
slopes,  and  the  heavenly  blueness  of  the  distant  hills ; 
on  the  flowery  sward  the  story-tellers  of  Boccaccio 
might  gather;  and  in  the  green  dimness  of  dreamful 
avenues  poets,  scholars,  and  saints  might  each  find  the 
ideal  solitude  that  inspiration  needs. 

Such  a  garden  was  that  of  the  Yilla  Perrata.  It 
was  of  great  extent,  with  the  broad,  balustraded  ter- 
races that  always  suggest  a  court,  or  at  least  courtly 
figures,  with  alleys  lined  by  walls  of  box  and  shaded 
by  giant  cypresses,  with  ilex  groves  and  avenues,  where 
in  the  deep  shade  through  which  scarcely  a  ray  of  sun- 
shine could  flicker,  statues  and  antique  columns  stood, 
with  fountains  that  flung  their  flashing  spray  amid  a 
wilderness  of  acanthus-leaves,  and  fell  with  musical 
murmur  into  the  great  basins  fringed  with  ferns,  and 


"AY  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXy  151 

with  a  wealth  of  flowers  that  bloomed  continuously 
from  early  spring  to  latest  autumn — myrtles,  acacias, 
roses,  oleanders,  tropical  cacti,  and  lemon-trees,  with 
their  golden  fruit  shining  through  glistening  leaves. 

In  these  lovely  shades,  which  knew  no  change  save 
the  natural  changes  of  the  season,  Lysle  and  Cecil  found 
themselves  together  for  the  first  time  since  they  had 
walked  under  the  distant  Southern  pines.  The  thought 
was  so  strongly  in  the  minds  of  both,  that  they  had 
hardly  left  the  villa  when  Cecil,  glancing  at  her  com- 
panion, said,  with  a  smile  : 

"  Are  you  a  magician,  Mr.  Lysle  ?  I  sometimes 
think  you  must  be,  when  I  look  around  and  realize 
how  wildly  improbable  it  would  have  appeared  a  few 
months  ago  that  I  could  ever  be  in  such  scenes  as 
these." 

"  You  would  not  say  so  if  you  could  see  yourself," 
he  answered.     "  You  seem  made  for  them." 

She  flushed  a  little.  "  You  are  very  good  to  say  so. 
And,  since  you  stand  pledged  by  an  old  promise  not  to 
flatter  me,  I  will  believe  you  now,  as  I  have  believed 
your  pleasant  words  of  praise  before.  But  that  does 
not  make  it  one  whit  less  remarkable  that  I  should  be 
here." 

"  It  does  not  strike  me  as  remarkable  at  all — only  a 
very  simple  and  eminently  suitable  arrangement.  And 
you  like  my  cousin  ?     I  am  glad  of  that." 

"Like  her!"  She  paused  a  moment  with  a  quick 
light  on  her  face.  "  Do  you  know  that,  if  I  belonged 
to  the  romantic  order  of  women,  I  should  say  that  I  was 
in  love  with  the  marchesa  ?  She  fascinates  me ;  she  is 
all  that  1  ever  dreamed  a  woman  could  or  should  be. 


152  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

Her  life  " — she  sighed  a  little —  "  is  mj  ideal  exist- 
ence." 

"I  do  not  think  it  is  her  own,"  answered  Ljsle. 
"  Hers,  I  am  sure,  would  include  the  love  she  has  lost, 
and  to  which  she  remains  faithful." 

''  Ah — perhaps  so,"  said  Miss  Churchill,  with  the  air 
of  one  to  whom  a  new  thought  is  suggested.  "  But  it 
does  not  seem  to  me  that  her  life  lacks  anything.  In- 
deed, one  of  its  greatest  charms  is  its  absolute  free- 
dom." 

"  You  would  not,  then,  have  considered  her  free  if 
the  husband  to  whom  she  was  devoted  had  lived  ? " 

"  How  could  any  one  have  considered  her  free  then  ? 
There  may  be  compensations  in  love  for  the  loss  of 
freedom — at  least  people  say  so — but  that  it  is  lost 
there  can  be  no  question." 

"  You  will  admit,  however,  that  it  is  sometimes  hap- 
pily, lost,"  said  Lysle,  conscious  of  a  curious  sensation 
— a  mingling  of  pain  with  a  sense  of  the  justification  of 
his  own  wisdom. 

She  lifted  her  shoulders  with  a  little  foreign  gesture 
which  she  had  caught.  "  Of  course,  one  must  admit  it, 
in  view  of  the  overwhelming  testimony  to  that  effect, 
but  I  think  it  is  only  happily  lost  by  those  who  are  un- 
aware of  its  value." 

"  And  you  are  aware  of  it  ?  " 

"  FuUv,  I  think.  It  has  alwavs  seemed  to  me  of 
supreme  value.  1  do  not  mean  that  life  might  not  offer 
an  inducement  sufficiently  great  to  influence  one  to  sac- 
rifice it — but  one  would  be  distinctly  conscious  of  the 
sacrifice." 

"  I   suppose  so,"  said   Lysle,  with   a  swift  smile, 


"AV  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEX:'  153 

which  she  would  scarcely  have  understood  had  she  seen 
it.  He  was  thinking  how  well  it  was  that  he  had  held 
inflexibly  to  his  own  opinion,  and  had  not  offered  an 
inducement  which  might  have  justified  a  sacrifice  dis- 
tinctly felt  to  be  such. 

They  were  silent  then  for  a  few  minutes.  This  was 
not  the  turn  he  had  intended  the  conversation  to  take 
when  he  had  asked  her  to  come  out  with  him ;  but 
there  is  a  singular  perversity  in  human  affairs  some- 
times and  the  thino^  which  we  do  not  mean  to  sav  is 
frequently  the  thing  which  is  said.  So  they  walked 
through  the  stately  grace  of  the  beautiful  garden  as 
they  had  often  walked  through  the  vast  aisles  of  the 
pine-forest — silent,  yet  vtdth  a  sense  of  thorough  com- 
panionship.    It  was  Cecil  who  at  length  spoke  again : 

"  JS^o  doubt  you  are  so  familiar  with  this  place,  and 
other  places  like  it,  that  it  has  not  the  same  charm  for 
you  as  for  me,  but  I  feel  like  the  Spanish  monk  in 
Lord  Houghton's  poem,  as  if  the  great  figures  of  the 
past  that  have  walked  here  were  alone  real,  and  /  were 
the  shadow." 

"I  can  understand  the  feeling,"  said  Lysle,  as  he 
looked  at  the  dim  avenues  down  which  those  figures 
had  passed,  the  terraces  where  they  had  lingered,  and 
the  bosky  depths  of  shade,  musical  with  the  sound  of 
falling  water,  where  they  had  woven  intrigues  or  whis- 
pered love.  '^  They  were  so  splendid,  so  noble,  so 
picturesque,  those  old  figures  of  Florence,  that  they 
may  well  dominate  forever  the  scenes  where  they  have 
moved.  And  you  —  who  have  always  lived  in  the 
world  of  the  imagination — you  feel  it,  of  course,  as  no 
ordinary  person  would." 


154:  MISS  CHURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

"I  might  not  feel  it  so  mucli  if,  like  tliose  around 
me,  I  had  always  lived  among  such  associations,"  she 
said.  "  But  to  come  from  a  land  which  has  no  history 
— or  only  a  history  of  yesterday — and  to  step  at  once 
into  the  scenes  which  surround  me  here  —  the  most 
beautiful,  the  most  famous,  the  most  hallowed  by  hu- 
man genius  of  any  in  the  world — can  you  wonder  that 
I  am  like  one  who  w^alks  in  a  dream  ? " 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  all.  I  am  only  glad  that  the 
dream  is  so  beautiful." 

"  Ah,  how  beautiful  you  can  not  possibly  know !  I 
wdsh  that  I  could  tell  you  what  I  felt  the  day  I  entered 
Florence,  when  in  the  light  of  a  luminous  sunset  her 
marvelous  beauty  first  broke  on  me  like  a  revelation, 
when  her  classic  loveliness,  her  imperishable  greatness 
and  her  mighty  memories  all  at  once  laid  a  spell  of  ab- 
solute enchantment  upon  me !  " 

He  smiled  as  one  who  is  well  pleased.  "  You  tell 
me  much,"  he  said,  "  and  I  can — in  some  degree  at  least 
— imagine  the  rest.  I  am  not  insensible  to  such  influ- 
ences myself.  And  I  knew  what  they  would  be  to 
you."  He  paused  an  instant,  then  said,  softly,  "  Do  you 
ever  think  of  the  pond  among  the  hills  ? " 

She  answered  with  a  quick  glance  :  "  Can  I  ever  for- 
get it  ?  Do  you  think  the  stream,  though  it  were  set 
free,  could  ever  forget  the  desolate  hills  and  somber 
trees  that  had  shadowed  it  so  long  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  it  might  do  so,  if  it  reflected 
the  sky  of  Italy,  the  towers  and  palaces  of  Florence." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  All  that  may  be  a  delight, 
but  the  memory  and  the  influence  of  the  past  must  re- 
main.    How  can  one  cut  out  a  part  of  one's  life  and 


"AV  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXy  155 

tlirow  it  away  ?  Surely  existence  would  be  a  much 
simpler  and  more  agreeable  matter  than  it  is  if  one  only 
could.  And  that  was  why  I  rebelled  so  against  that 
life — I  had  not  only  to  endure  it,  but  I  knew  that  it 
was  laying  its  ineffaceable  influence  upon  me." 

"  1  do  not  think  you  will  find  it  ineffaceable,  now 
that  you  are  free." 

"  I  fear  that  I  shall.  How  can  one  alter  that  which 
has  been  ?  How  can  one  replace  wasted  years  ?  In  this 
atmosphere  of  noble  culture  I  feel  the  value  of  every 
day  ;  and  I  have  lost  so  many — so  many  !  " 

"  Let  them  go  without  regret.  You  have  so  many 
yet  to  come ;  and  you  have  but  to  stretch  out  your 
hand  and  make  all  forms  of  culture  your  own.  In  the 
maturity  of  your  powers  it  will  cost  you  no  effort  to 
do  so." 

"  You  think  too  well  of  me — you  expect  too  much 
of  me,"  she  cried,  almost  sharply.  "  Have  I  not  warned 
you  not  to  look  for  anything  but  disappointment  from 
me  ? " 

*'  Would  it  be  disappointment  if  I  looked  for  it  ?  " 
he  asked,  smiling.  "  But  why  say  such  things  of  your- 
self ?     Do  you  regret — the  freedom  ? " 

"  Regret  it !  "  There  was  a  passionate  light  in  the 
eyes  that  looked  at  him.  "  If  I  knew  that  it  would 
lead  to  the  utmost  miserv  human  nature  could  endure, 
I  should  not  regret  it!  If  I  have  never  fitly  expressed 
my  gratitude  for  the  immensity  of  the  gift  you  brought 
when  you  came  that  autumn  day  to  my  narrow  school- 
room, it  was  because  there  seemed  no  words  strong 
enough  to  express  it.  I  felt  then,  by  the  irksome  bit- 
terness of  captivity,  what  freedom  might  be  ;  but  now 


156  MISS  CnURGHILL:    A  STUDY. 

that  I  know — oh,  remember  always  that  nothing  could 
make  me  regret  it !  " 

He  bent  his  head  in  token  of  satisfaction,  and  he 
did  not  again  disclaim  her  gratitude ;  he  knew  well 
that  he  had  indeed  carried  a  great  gift  when  he  went 
to  her  that  autumn  day.  The  final  result  neither  of 
them  could  foresee,  but  it  was  something  to  be  assured 
in  that  passionate  voice,  with  those  passionate  eyes,  that 
nothing  conld  make  her  regret  it. 

They  were  meanwhile  walking  in  the  ilex  avenue 
of  which  Cecil  had  spoken — a  space  lined  by  great  old 
trees,  with  massive  leaning  trunks,  and  mighty  inter- 
lacing boughs  forming  a  dense  canopy  overhead.  At 
noon — the  high  noon  of  Italy,  with  all  its  radiant,  pene- 
trating light — there  was  always  the  "  ilex  twilight " 
here,  a  delicious  green  obscurity  from  which  one  looked 
through  an  arch  of  foliage  on  a  wide  plain  swimming 
in  golden  light,  and  distant  hills,  fair  as  the  heights  of 
heaven.  Behind  those  hills  just  now  the  sun  was  sink- 
ing, touching  their  mighty  summits  with  a  kiss,  under 
which  they  glowed  into  jewel-like  splendor. 

At  this  moment  Cecil  and  Lysle  emerged  from  the 
avenue  to  the  terrace  on  which  it  opened — and  a  pict- 
ure, than  which  the  earth  can  show  nothing  fairer,  was 
spread  before  them.  The  Yal  d'Arno  lay  at  their  feet, 
filled  with  ethereal,  rosy  mist,  its  silvery  olive-woods, 
its  flower-sown  meadows,  its  villas  and  gardens  bathed 
in  radiance,  while  out  of  the  midst  of  the  sea  of  light 
and  color  Florence  lifted  her  shining  domes  and  airy 
towers  like  the  city  of  a  poet's  dream.  As  the  sun  sank 
behind  the  violet  range  of  Carrara,  her  bells  rang  out 
the  Ave  Marla^  and  were  answered  by  village  churches 


"IJ^  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEXy  157 

and  embowered  conveuts  on  plain  and  hill.  These 
sweet  sounds,  softened  by  distance  and  filling  all  the 
air,  mingled  with  the  luminous  pomegranate-flushed 
vapor  and  the  countless  perfumes  of  opening  blossoms 
to  complete  the  enchantment  of  the  scene.  The  great 
ranges  of  encircling  mountains  caught  from  the  sun- 
set tints  of  changing  glory,  while  soft  cirrus  clouds,  like 
scattered  rose-leaves,  floated  over  their  summits.  All 
the  spell,  the  charm,  the  infinite  loveliness  of  Italy, 
seemed  at  this  moment  to  touch  the  two  where  they 
stood  on  the  villa-terrace,  with  the  olive-clad  hill-side 
sloping  downward  at  their  feet,  and  about  them  a  cloud 
of  almond-trees  in  bloom. 

Walking  to  the  edge  of  the  terrace,  Cecil  leaned 
against  the  stone  balustrade  and  let  her  glance  wander 
over  the  wide,  radiant  scene,  from  villa-crowned  Fie- 
sole  to  the  dark  pines  of  Yallombrosa.  Then  she 
turned  and  looked  at  Lysle. 

"  You  ask  me  if  I  could  regret — ever — to  have  seen 
this  before  I  die  ? "  she  said,  in  a  low,  thrilling  tone. 
"  Oh,  how  would  it  be  possible  ?  " 

"  You  have  answered,"  he  said,  "  a  question  which 
I  brought  you  here  to  ask.  Do  you  remember  our  last 
walk  in  the  pine-lands  ? — and  how  I  bade  you  wait 
until  we  looked  at  our  next  sunset  together  to  tell  me 
whether  or  not  you  held  it  well  done  that  I  had  opened 
the  way  into  the  world  for  you  ? " 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  with  a  quick  impul- 
sive gesture  full  of  grace.  "  You  have  given  me  life," 
she  said.  "  What  I  had  before  was  merely  a  dull  exist- 
ence full  of  the  sense  of  pain,  of  smothered  aspiration, 
and  crippled  powers.  I  may  disappoint  you,  Mr.  Lysle 
14 


158  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

— 1  Lave  told  you  again  and  again  I  may  not  become 
anything  that  you  expect — but  always  remember  that 
I  owe  you  a  debt  which  nothing  can  repay.  You  have 
brought  me  into  a  world  which  suits  me,  as  you  once 
said  it  would,  in  every  liber  of  my  being.  The  days 
are  one  long  enchantment — I  have  missed  nothing, 
wanted  nothing,  since  I  have  been  here." 

"  Nothing  \  "  he  repeated.  It  was  strange  how  often 
in  her  unconsciousness  she  seemed  fated  to  pain  him 
this  evening — the  evening  to  which  he  had  looked  for- 
ward with  so  much  vague  hope  and  longing.  He  had 
been  honest  with  himself  and  honest  wath  his  cousin 
when  he  had  said  that  he  would  not,  if  he  could,  lay  a 
fetter  upon  her ;  but  if,  perhaps,  absence  had  made  her 
feel  the  need  of  him,  wdiy,  then  it  would  be  no  fetter 
that  he  might  offer,  but  the  fulfillment  of  love  and  hope. 
He  thought  of  the  evening  in  the  pine-lands  to  which 
he  had  alluded,  when  she  had  seemed  so  near  to  him, 
when  he  had  felt  that  he  had  but  to  put  out  his  hand 
and  take  all  that  he  desired.  And  now,  her  frankly 
given  hand  lay  in  his,  her  eyes  shone  like  stars  as  they 
gazed  at  him,  and  yet  how  far  she  was  from  him — how 
far,  as  she  said  that  she  had  missed  nothing,  wanted 
nothing,  since  they  parted !  A  faint  sigh  passed  his  lips 
as  he  echoed  her  word  ;  then,  bending  his  head,  he 
lightly  kissed  her  liand  and  let  it  go. 

"  Do  not  talk  of  debt  or  repayment  unless  you  wish 
to  wound  me — and  that  I  know  you  do  not  wish,"  he 
said.  "  Granting  that  you  owe  me  anything,  I  am 
more  than  repaid  by  your  happiness.  To  see  you 
happy,  to  see  you  in  a  life  suited  to  you,  I  would  have 
done  much.     As  it  happens,  I   did  nothing — except 


"ZZV^  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXP  159 

write  a  letter.  And  never  before,  I  am  sure,  was  so 
small  an  exertion  so  greatly  rewarded.  Yet,  although 
I  have  been  fully  rewarded,  I  will  beg  one  favor  of 
you." 

"  And  that  is—  ?  " 

"JS'ever  to  speak  again  of  disappointing  me.  As 
I  have  told  you  before,  it  is  impossible.  Being  your- 
self, you  can  not  disappoint  me.  But  you  do  me  injus- 
tice when  you  seem  to  imply  that  I  expect  you  to  be- 
come something  which  you  are  not." 

"Believe  me,"  she  said,  "I  would  not  willingly  do 
you  injustice." 

"  I  am  certain  of  that,  and  so  I  ask  you  to  believe 
that  your  happiness  is  sufficient  to  satisfy  me,  whether 
you  find  it  in  the  joy  of  artistic  production — as  I  think 
that  you  will  —  or  in  that  enjoyment  of  what  others 
have  produced,  which  may  be  called  the  passive  side  of 
the  intellectual  life." 

*'  I  have  felt  no  desire  to  produce  anything  since  I 
have  been  here,"  she  said,  dreamily. 

"  [lTo,  because  you  are  absorbed  in  receiving  impres- 
sions. We  must  be  receptive  before  we  can  be  pro- 
ductive. But  after  a  while,  when  the  intoxication  of 
novelty  has  worn  off,  when  you  have  fully  assimilated 
all  the  new  influences  which  surround  vou,  then  the 
impulse,  the  passion,  the  need  to  produce,  will  wake  in 
you  again.  Until  that  day,  rest  tranquil — steep  your- 
self as  you  will  in  art  and  history  and  natural  beauty. 
All  these  things  are  forces  which  will  one  day  enrich 
your  work." 

As  she  listened  to  him  with  slightly  parted  lips  and 
shining  eyes,  he  could  not  but  recall  the  day  he  had 


160  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

uttered  liis  first  words  of  encouragement,  when  he  had 
declared  to  her  the  vahie  of  her  work  and  the  promise 
of  her  future.  He  saw  the  school-room  walls,  the  danc- 
ing shadow  of  the  vines,  the  beautiful,  earnest  face 
listening  to  him  as  to  an  oracle.  The  same  face  was 
turned  to  him  now,  while  sunset  burned  above  the 
crests  of  the  Apennines,  and  Florence  lay  below  with 
all  her  magic  beauty,  her  divine  inheritance  of  genius 
and  art. 

"  ]^o  one  stimulates  me  as  you  do,"  she  said. 
"  When  I  listen  to  you,  everything  seems  possible ;  but 
when  you  are  gone,  I  question  and  doubt.  It  has  al- 
ways been  so  with  me." 

"  It  will  not  always  be  so  with  you,"  he  said.  "  The 
time  will  come  when  you  will  feel  your  own  power  too 
strongly  to  doubt  yourself.  Then  you  will  no  longer 
need  my  voice  to  stimulate  you.  But,  as  long  as  you 
do  need  it,  I  promise  that  it  shall  not  fail." 

"  I  have  implicit  confidence  in  you,"  she  said.  "  But 
I  fear  that,  with  the  best  will  imaginable  on  your  part, 
your  voice  can  not  speak  to  me  very  effectively  from 
Egypt  or  Afghanistan." 

"  I  shall  not  be  always  in  Egypt  or  Afghanistan." 

"  I  hope  not,  indeed — but  I  wish  that  you  were  not 
going  at  all." 

"  I  was  tempted  to  wish  that  also  a  short  time  ago, 
but  now  I  think  it  is  best.  Your  'sweet  Yal  d'Arno  ' 
would  prove  an  enervating  paradise  if  one  lingered  long 
in  it,  I  fear." 

She  looked  at  him  wistfullv.  Some  words  seemed 
trembling  on  her  lip,  but  she  did  not  utter  them.  She 
looked  away  again  toward  the  distant  mountains,  over 


"AV  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEX:'  161 

which  a  dark  purple  shade  was  now  stealing  as  twi- 
light fell. 

"  But  its  influence  is  just  what  you  need,"  he  went 
on,  after  a  moment.  "  I  could  desire  nothing  better  for 
you  ;  and  when  we  meet  again  I  hope  you  can  still  tell 
me  that  you  have  missed  nothing,  wanted  nothing,  in 
the  interval." 


CHAPTEE  lY. 

The  villa  of  Dorrian  was  not  far  from  the  Yilla 
Ferrata,  but  higher  up  among  the  hills — a  noble  place 
which  he  had  purchased  from  an  impoverished  princely 
family  and  spent  immense  sums  in  restoring  and  em- 
bellishing. It  was  not  a  show-place,  for  the  very  good 
reason  that  he  was  absolutely  intolerant  of  sight-seers, 
but  those  who  were  admitted  as  guests  within  its  gates 
brought  away  such  glowing  accounts  of  its  beauty,  that 
public  curiosity — especially  the  curiosity  of  his  own 
countrymen — ran  high  concerning  it.  But  all  applica- 
tions for  permission  to  visit  it  were  refused ;  and  only 
his  most  special  friends  were  ever  invited  to  enter  the 
jealously  closed  doors. 

It  will  be  perceived,  therefore,  that  Lysle  should  not 
have  been  insensible  to  the  privilege  accorded  him  ; 
but  it  is  to  be  feared  that  he  was  completely  insensible. 
So  far  from  desiring  to  inspect  the  treasures  accumu- 
lated by  one  of  the  foremost  of  virtuosi^  he  was  irritated 
to  think  of  giving  so  many  hours  of  his  brief  stay  to  a 
visit  which  offered  nothing  agreeable  to  him.  He  did 
not  express  these  sentiments,  but  the  marchesa^  whose 
perceptions  were  as  quick  as  his  own,  saw  that  he  did 
not  wish  to  go. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  we  have  this  engagement  while 


"/A^  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXP  163 

you  are  with  us,"  slie  said  to  bim,  "  for  I  know  tliat 
you  do  not  like  Herbert  Dorrian.  I  would  put  off  tbe 
visit  if  I  could,  but  that  is  hardly  possible.  K'ina  is 
very  anxious  to  go." 

"  I  should  not  think  of  allowing  you  to  put  it  off  on 
my  account,"  said  Lysle.  "  If  I  were  averse  to  going, 
what  would  be  easier  than  to  remain  behind  ?  But  no 
doubt  the  villa  is  well  worth  seeing  ;  and  Dorrian  can 
not  monopolize  every  one  at  once." 

She  gave  him  a  quick  glance.  "  There  is  no  reason 
why  he  should  monopolize  Miss  Churchill  at  all,"  she 
said. 

So  he  went  with  them,  driving  along  a  road  which 
led  through  the  deep  shadow  of  cypress  and  ilex  woods, 
between  the  gnarled  stems  of  old  olives  whose  roots 
were  blue  with  violets  and  hyacinths,  by  gray  walls 
overtopped  by  the  white  snow  of  blossoming  plum- 
trees  or  the  rosy  flush  of  almond-blooms,  with  pictur- 
esque gorges  full  of  silvery  light  and  solemn  shade 
around  them,  below  ever  and  anon  a  gleam  of  water  or 
a  glimpse  of  the  city  shining  through  its  cloud  of  olives, 
and  afar,  soft,  dream-like,  ethereal,  great  violet  mount- 
ains fold  on  fold. 

Cecil  scarcely  spoke  as  they  passed  along  this  way 
so  wildly  beautiful  and  strewed  with  memories  "  thick 
as  autumn  leaves  in  Yallambrosa."  To  Lysle  her  si- 
lence was  like  a  veil  of  delicate  reserve  which  she  drew 
around  her  thoughts  and  feelings,  the  result  of  habit 
as  well  as  of  instinct — the  habit  of  one  who  has  lived 
long  in  mental  solitude.  He  saw  the  light  in  her  eyes 
as  they  dwelt  on  the  constantly  changing  scene,  and  he 
knew  that  she  hardly  heard,  and  heeded  not  at  all,  the 


164  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

gay  talk  of  tlie  young  contessa,  chattering  of  the  cos- 
mopolitan gossip  in  which  Florence  abounds. 

At  length  a  turn  of  the  upward,  winding  way 
brought  them  to  where  the  villa  stood  in  the  midst  of 
its  wide  gardens,  surrounded  by  the  shade  of  ilex  and 
chestnut-woods.  It  had  been  once  a  castle,  as  a  single 
battlemented  tower  remained  to  testify,  but  had  been 
modernized  when  the  Renaissance  swept  with  resistless 
force  over  Italy.  In  a  loggia  full  of  classic  grace,  with 
Ionic  columns  and  frescoes  by  II  Yolterrano,  Dorrian 
received  his  guests.  Thence  passing  into  a  lofty  hall 
green  with  palms  and  set  with  •  statues,  they  entered 
a  series  of  reception-rooms  in  which  Lorenzo  the  Mag- 
nificent might  have  found  himself  at  home.  One  vast 
and  lofty  saloon  succeeded  another — all  frescoed  by 
Andrea  del  Sarto,  by  Francia,  Pontormo,  and  many 
others,  all  radiant  with  light  and  fragrance,  all  full  of 
the  most  beautiful  products  of  ancient  and  modem  art, 
all  pervaded  by  a  faultless  taste  and  redolent  of  a  classic 
charm.  Through  the  wide  windows  sunshine  fell  on 
mosaic-paved  floors,  on  the  still,  white  grace  of  statues, 
on  the  indescribable  harmonies  of  old  tapestry,  on  price- 
less vases  and  delicate  carved  cabinets,  on  alabaster  and 
porphyry  and  rare  old  work  of  gold  and  silver,  such  as 
in  the  day  of  giants  was  wrought  down  in  Florence  by 
the  Arte  degli  Orefici.  And  if  the  beauty  within  al- 
lowed the  gazer  to  glance  without,  he  saw  a  garden 
full  of  bloom  and  shade,  while  far  away  the  pinna- 
cles of  Florence  gleamed,  in  the  midst  of  the  shining 
plain. 

"It  is  perfect,  Herbert,"  said  the  marchesa.  "It  is 
like  an  embodied  dream  of  the  Renaissance.     One  fan- 


«7iV  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEX^  165 

cies  Lorenzo  here  Tvith  Lis  Platonic  Academy  around 
liim." 

"  Unfortunately,  it  was  not  in  this  villa  that  they 
held  their  meetings,"  said  Dorrian,  who  would  have 
liked  the  association.  "But  will  you  permit  me  to  lead 
you  to  breakfast  ? " 

They  went  into  the  splendid  banqueting-hall,  lofty 
as  a  temple,  garlanded  with  frescoes,  and  rich  with  the 
tints  of  old  carved  wood  and  Spanish  leather.  Here 
was  served  that  midday  meal  which,  whether  under  its 
English  name  of  luncheon  or  its  Continental  name  of 
breakfast,  can  be  made  as  light  or  as  elaborate  as  may 
be  desired.  It  was  sufficiently  elaborate  now  to  prove 
that  Mr.  Dorrian  had  a  cordon  hleu  in  his  kitchen,  and 
it  was  rendered  beautiful  by  the  exquisite  ware  on 
which  it  was  served — by  the  old  Urbino  plates,  the 
delicate  Venetian  glass,  and  the  rare  Capo  di  Monte. 

The  party  was  so  small  that  conversation  was  gen- 
eral, and  sparkling  as  the  wine  that  filled  their  glasses  ; 
but  Lysle  observed  that  Cecil  bore  little  part  in  it. 
Her  veil  of  reserve  seemed  still  to  inwrap  her.  TThen 
addressed  she  answered  readily  and  with  grace,  but,  un- 
less appealed  to  individually,  she  seldom  spoke.  Was 
she  overpowered  by  the  beauty  and  magnificence  that 
indeed  recalled  the  palmiest  days  of  the  Eenaissance  ? 
It  was  scarcely  like  Cecil  to  be  so  overpowered.  She 
might  be  thrilled  by  beauty  or  touched  by  poetry,  but 
mere  magnificence  would  not  so  afiect  her.  Of  that 
he  was  sure,  and,  watching  her,  he  seemed  to  realize 
that  her  silence  was  the  stillness  of  one  whose  thoughts 
were  too  deep  or  too  delicate  for  ready  translation  into 
speech. 


166  ^J^'SS  CRURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

After  breakfast  thej  went  into  the  gardens,  filled 
with  leafy  coolness  and  fragrant  bloom,  with  fountains 
and  statues  and  vases,  with  ilex  and  cypress  avenues 
and  great  hedges  of  box.  And  here  for  the  first  time 
Cecil  found  Dorrian  by  her  side. 

"  You  are  very  silent,  Miss  Chui'chill,''  he  said. 
"  You  know  that  one  has  one's  little  vanity  as  a  collect- 
or. My  villa  is  my  toy,  perhaps.  1  hope  that  it  has 
pleased  you." 

"  Pleased  me ! "  She  lifted  her  great  golden  eyes 
to  his  face.  "  How  can  you  speak  of  it  in  such  a  tone 
as  that  ? — anything  so  beautiful,  so  like  a  dream  !  Do 
you  not  know  that  there  are  people  in  the  world  doomed 
to  live  narrow,  colorless  lives,  yet  in  whom  the  passion- 
ate love  of  beauty  is  so  strong  that  it  would  be  like 
heaven  to  them  to  breathe  for  one  hour  in  such  a  place 
as  this,  to  feast  their  eyes  and  their  souls  on  what  you 
hold  so  lightly  'i " 

He  was  surprised,  but  he  made  a  little  gesture  of 
indifference.  "  There  may  be  such  people,"  he  said, 
''  but  why  think  of  them  ?  " 

"In  order  that  one  may  value  properly  what  one 
possesses — you  this  fairy  place,  and  I  the  great  pleasure 
of  seeing  it." 

"  I  am  deeply  gratified  if  it  has  given  you  pleasure. 
I  thought  that  perhaps  it  would.  When  I  have  seen 
your  delight  in  other  places,  I  have  thought  that  you 
might  find  something  to  enjoy  in  what  I  have  collected 
here.  That  was  why  I  begged  the  marchesa  to  come 
to-day." 

He  looked  at  her  as  he  uttered  the  last  words ;  per- 
haps he  was  curious  to  see  how  they  would  affect  her, 


"ZA^  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXP  167 

being  conscious  himself  of  the  compliment  implied  and 
of  the  manner  in  which  it  would  have  been  received  bj 
many  women.  But  Cecil,  who  had  all  her  life  been 
accustomed  to  homage,  merely  bent  her  head  slightly 
in  acknowledgment,  as  a  young  princess  might. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said.  "  I  have  seen  noth- 
ing which  has  pleased  me  so  much — all  is  so  perfect 
here,  so  ideaL  One  feels  one's  self  in  a  world  where 
grace,  beauty,  and  harmony  reign  supreme ;  one  moves 
in  a  dream  of  mingled  poetry  and  history.  "  That," 
she  added  with  a  smile,  "  is  why  I  have  been  si- 
lent." 

"  Should  I  apologize  for  making  you  break  the 
silence  \  If  one  has  been  so  fortunate  as  to  succeed  in 
weaving  a  spell,  one  should  not  disturb  it." 

"You  do  not,"  she  said,  quietly.  "You  are  in  har- 
mony with  it.  I  can  easily  fancy  you  here  alone — 
steeping  yourself  in  this  atmosphere  of  still  grace." 
She  paused  and  looked  around  her.  "  I  think  if  I  were 
subjected  habitually  to  the  influence  of  such  a  place,  I 
should  be  as  intolerant  as  you  are  of  rude  and  jarring 
and  unbeautiful  things." 

He  smiled  sli^htlv.  "  You  suit  it  as  well  as  it  suits 
you,"  he  said.  "I  have  watched  you  as  you  moved 
through  the  rooms  with  your  eyes  full  of  dreams,  and 
never  once  were  you  out  of  harmony  by  movement  or 
gesture.  It  is  saying  a  great  deal.  You  do  not  know 
how  often  beautiful  women  have  lost  their  beauty  to 
me  here.  They  lacked  the  repose,  the  nobility  and 
simplicity  of  style  for  these  great  classic  rooms.  They 
were  charming  in  a  satin-lined,  Louis  Quinze  boudoir, 
but,  brought  into  apartments  filled  with  the  grace  of  the 


168  MISS  CBUEGHILL:    A  STUDY. 

antique  world,  thej  shrank  into  pettiness ;  tliej  seemed 
artiticial  as  dolls." 

"  Probably  thej  had  no  feeling  of  harmony,"  said 
Cecil.  "  They  could  not  transport  themselves  into  the 
world  which  all  these  things  embody.  It  is  not  every 
one  who  is  adaptive  in  that  manner." 

"  JSTot  every  one,  indeed.  Few  and  far  between  are 
those  who  can  shake  off  the  influences  and  traditions  of 
their  environment  and  choose  the  atmosphere  in  which 
they  will  live  ;  fewer  still,  having  chosen,  can  adapt 
themselves  in  any  thorough  sense  to  a  world  which  is 
not  that  of  the  hour  and  the  moment.  But  you,  Miss 
Churchill" — ^he  paused  and  looked  down  at  her,  smil- 
ing still,  but  with  a  curious  regard  in  his  languid  gray 
eyes — "  will  you  forgive  me  if  I  am  a  little  impertinent, 
if  I  say  something  which  has  been  in  my  mind  a  long 
time  ?  You  are  able  to  do  this  in  a  degree  that  I  have 
never  seen  surpassed.  Coming  from  a  country  which 
makes  one  shudder  with  its  crudity,  you  seem  to  have 
no  narrow  or  provincial  stamp  whatever,  you  reflect 
and  adapt  yourself  to  every  great  influence,  you  seem 
born  for  the  enjoyment  and  the  adornment  of  that  su- 
preme world  which  knows  no  country,  and  which  we 
call  art  —  a  world  of  beautiful  images,  of  beautiful 
memories,  of  beautiful  dreams." 

He  spoke  so  quietly  and  his  tone  was  so  far  removed 
from  flattery,  that  Cecil  hstened  and  answered  as  quiet- 
ly herself — only  the  faint  flush  which  came  into  her 
cheeks  showing  that  she  was  moved  : 

"  If  it  is  true  that  I  have  no  stamp  of  any  special 
life — narrow  or  otherwise — upon  me,  it  is  because  I 
have  had  no  life  except  in  the  imagination.     My  out- 


"AV  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXr  109 

ward  existence  had  no  meaning  for  me,  no  influence 
upon  me — until  I  came  here.  Mj  onlj  real  life  was  in 
my  dreams." 

He  bent  his  head.  "  It  is  the  only  real  life  for  one 
like  you — under  ordinary  circumstances,"  he  said. 

A  sound  of  laughter  floated  to  them  at  this  mo- 
ment, and  turning  they  saw  the  marchesa  and  Lysle, 
with  the  Conte  and  Contessa  Salvieri,  advancing  toward 
them  down  a  green  avenue,  with  the  white  columns  of 
a  Greek  temple  revealed  in  the  vista  behind.  It  oc- 
curred to  Cecil  that  to  suit  the  scene  they  should  have 
come  with  floating  garments,  with  dancing  feet  and 
garlands  of  roses,  or  else  in  the  rich  and  stately  dress 
of  Florence  in  the  moyen  age.  She  looked  at  Dorrian 
with  a  smile. 

"  You  sliould  lay  down  a  law  of  costume  for  your 
guests  in  order  to  be  quite  perfect,"  she  said. 

He  glanced  at  her  dress  of  soft  India  silk,  exquisite 
as  only  Eastern  fabrics  can  be  in  tone  of  color  and 
draped  with  almost  classic  grace  around  her  pliant  figure. 
"  !N^ow  and  then,"  he  said,  ^'  I  have  a  guest  for  whom 
such  a  law  would  be  unnecessary." 

"Ah,  yes — the  marchesa  looks  as  if  she  had  just 
stepped  out  of  a  picture,"  said  Cecil,  who  had  not  ob- 
served the  glance. 

The  smile  which  was  his  only  answer  was  still  on 
his  lips  when  the  others  reached  them,  and  the  mar- 
chesa sat  down  on  a  stone  seat  overshadowed  by  tower- 
ins^  laurels. 

"  This  is  a  charroing  place  in  which  to  rest,"  she 

said ;  "  and  indeed  the  day  and  the  scene  make  one  feel 

that  exertion  is  altogether  misplaced.     It  is  like  living 
15 


170  ^I'SS  CHURCHILL:    A   STUDY. 

in  tlie  Decamerone  to  loiter  in  such  a  garden  and  look 
down  upon  Yal  d'Arno." 

"  Let  us  then  remain  here,"  said  Dorrian,  "  al- 
though jou  have  not  seen  half  that  I  wish  to  show 
you." 

"Keep  the  rest  for  another  time.  It  will  give  you 
an  excuse  to  ask  us  to  come  again." 

"  Willingly,"  he  said  wdth  a  laugh,  as  he  threw  him- 
self down  on  the  grass  at  her  feet,  "  and  more  willingly 
that  it  is  the  mediaeval  portion  of  the  villa  which  you 
have  not  explored." 

"  Why  have  you  a  mediaeval  portion  when  yon  are 
so  little  in  accord  with  the  mediaeval  spirit  ? " 

"  What  could  I  do  with  that  part  of  the  old  castle 
which  is  left,  save  fit  it  up  in  the  style  of  the  twelfth 
century  ?  I  do  not  like  it  in  the  least — I  am  thoroughly 
out  of  harmony  with  the  whole  life  which  it  expresses 
— but  there  is  a  certain  satisfaction  in  doing  thoroughly 
what  one  undertakes.  I  flatter  myself  that  some  of  my 
rooms  are  not  surpassed  by  any  in  the  Hotel  de  Cluny." 

"  You  must  be  sadly  out  of  place  in  them,"  said  the 
marchesa,  smiling. 

"  Oh,"  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  ''  I  rarely  enter 
them.  I  can  imagine  only  one  thing  less  to  my  taste, 
and  that  would  be  anything  which  was  a  product  of 
the  nineteenth  century." 

"  Well,"  said  the  marchesa,  meditatively,  "  I  can  un- 
derstand many  things  ;  but  how  you — ^how  any  one — 
can  fail  to  admire  the  art  and  the  spirit  produced  by 
the  middle  ages,  I  can  not  understand." 

"  Yet  it  is  very  natural,"  said  Lysle,  "  that  one 
steeped  in  the  paganism  of  the  Renaissance — a  paganism 


"AY  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEX:'  VW 

without  any  of  tlie  virtues  which  redeemed  the  true 
paganism  of  antiquity — should  have  no  sympathy  for 
the  stern,  high,  mediaeval  spirit,  with  its  intense  relig- 
ious faith,  its  ardent  chivalry,  its  burning  enthusiasms 
for  the  most  lofty  ends,  its  strenuous  life  of  doing. 
When  men  ceased  to  do,  and  thought  only  of  crowning 
themselves  with  flowers  in  voluptuous  paradises,  where 
the  old  heathen  arts  were  revived  and  w^orshiped,  then 
indeed  the  age  of  great  things  was  over  for  the  world." 

Dorrian  regarded  the  speaker  with  languid  super- 
ciliousness. "  You  and  I,'^  he  said,  "  speak — nay,  we 
think — in  different  lauguages.  I  grant  you  that  there 
was  more  original  genius  in  the  middle  ages  than  the 
world  has  seen  since  the  glory  of  Greece,  and  any 
amount  of  that  strenuous  '  doing '  of  which  you  speak, 
in  the  way  of  wars  and  crusades,  but  everything  was 
stamped  with  the  seal  of  a  religion  which  inculcated 
sacrifice  and  pain,  and  the  renunciation  of  all  natural 
desires.  The  Renaissance  came  to  break  those  fetters ; 
in  reviving  pagan  art,  it  revived,  also,  pagan  reason ; 
and  it  taught  again  the  free,  elemental,  conscienceless 
spirit  of  enjoyment  which  the  mediaeval  world  anathe- 
matized." 

"■  It  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that  in  reviving 
pagan  art  it  revived  pagan  license,"  said  Lysle.  "But 
one  of  your  epithets  is  at  least  well  chosen — it  indeed 
taught  a  ^  conscienceless  spirit  of  enjoyment '  which 
has  m.any  modem  apostles." 

"  I  never  argue  with  a  moralist,"  said  Dorrian,  care- 
lessly. "  lie  always  wants  certain  premises  granted 
which  I  do  not  grant.  And  I  have  no  desire  to  con- 
vert any  one  to  my  beliefs." 


172  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  Have  you  any  %  "  laughed  the  young  contessa, 
bending  to  look  at  herself  in  the  fountain  which  made 
this  green  and  flowery  nook  musical  with  its  falling 
waters. 

*'  I  worship  beauty  and  I  adore  art,"  he  answered, 
glancing  at  her.  "  I  need  hardly  add  that  it  must  be 
true  beauty  and  true  art.  And  that  being  so,  a  great 
advantage  of  the  cultus  is  that  one  is  altogether  inde- 
pendent of  fellow- worshipers." 

"  And  does  not  even  desire  them  except  in  limited 
degree,"  said  the  marchesa.  "  Confess  that  beauty 
itself  —  the  beauty  you  worship — would  lose  half  its 
charm  if  the  number  of  its  worshipers  was  increased, 
if  it  was  not  the  cultus  and  possession  of  a  few  only." 

'^  In  that  case,"  said  the  young  count,  "  it  would 
fare  ill  with  you  if  the  Florence  shining  yonder  were 
the  Florence  of  old — the  city  in  which  art  was  the  in- 
heritance and  possession  of  the  people  to  a  degree  never 
known  before  or  since." 

"[N'ever  since,"  said  the  marchesa,  "but  before — 
come,  I  am  Greek  as  well  as  Florentine.  "Were  not  the 
knowledge  and  the  love  of  art  as  widely  spread,  think 
yon,  in  Athens,  as  even  in  medigeval  Florence  ?" 

"  The  inference  is  that  it  was,  for  only  from  the 
thorough  cultivation  of  the  popular  taste  can  such  great 
and  glorious  work  as  that  of  Athens  arise  ;  but  we  do 
not  know  all  the  details  of  the  popular  and  social  life  of 
Athens  as  we  know  that  of  Florence,"  was  the  reply. 
"  We  do  not  know  that  the  people  were  such  supreme 
judges  and  critics  of  art  as  the  people  of  Florence  when 
they  bore  Cimabue's  masterpiece  through  the  streets  in 
triumph,  when  every  workshop  was  the  seat  and  shrine 


"/iY  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEX:'  173 

of  art  in  its  truest  sense,  when  springing  from  the  peo- 
ple as  naturally  and  spontaneously  as  the  lily  springs  in 
her  meadows,  rose  a  flower  of  genius  which  the  world 
has  never  surpassed." 

"  One  might  fancy  you  a  Florentine,  Carlo  onio^'^ 
said  Contessa  Mna,  with  a  smile. 

"  He  is  an  Italian,"  said  Dorrian  ;  "  it  is  the  same." 

"It  is  not  the  same  in  any  sense  whatever,"  said  the 
young  count.  "  And  I,  for  one,  never  merge  the  great- 
er in  the  lesser  name.  I  am  a  Roman.  And  when  I 
speak  of  Tuscany,  it  is  with  the  hocca  romanaP 

So  talking  lightly,  they  sat  with  the  golden  idyllic 
beauty  of  the  spring  day  all  about  them,  and  opening 
on  every  side  the  long  avenues  of  the  garden  full  of 
dreamful  charm.  Cecil  glanced  down  these  for  some 
time,  and  at  length  rising  softly  moved  away.  Dorrian 
looked  after  her,  but  did  not  stir  from  his  position 
at  the  marchesa's  feet,  and  it  was  Lysle  who  rose  and 
followed  her. 

She  smiled  as  if  pleased  when  he  reached  her  side. 
"  Do  you,  too,  feel  as  if  it  were  a  shame  not  to  enjoy 
more  of  all  this  beauty?"  she  said.  "One  can  talk 
anywhere,  but  one  can  only  seldom  wander  through 
such  scenes  as  these." 

"  They  are  very  beautiful,"  he  said,  with  a  glance 
around  him.  "But  I  confess  that  I  do  not  like  the 
spirit  of  the  place:  it  is  too  much  of  a  voluptuous, 
enervating  paradise,  in  which  a  man  could  forget,  in 
which  a  man  has  forgotten,  that  such  a  thing  as  duty 
exists." 

She  laughed  a  little.  "  Mr.  Dorrian  would  say  that  it 
is  a  harsh  and  stern  word  which  has  no  meaning  here." 


174  MISS  CnURCniLL:    A  STUDY. 

I 

"  Mr.  Dorrian  miglit  saj  it — yes.    It  is  exactly  what 

he  would  say,  and  indeed  it  has  for  him  no  meaning 
anywhere.     But  yon  do  not  say  it  ?  " 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Then,  "  I  think,"  she 
said,  "  that  I  understand  what  he  means.  I  enter  into 
his  feeling— though  I  suppose  one  should  not  approve 
of  it.  Yet  it  is  hard  to  disapprove — here.  In  this 
abode  of  beauty,  of  harmony,  of  grace,  one  does  not 
wish  to  think  anything  hard  or  stern ;  one  wishes  pure- 
ly and  simply  to  enjoy." 

Lysle  looked  at  her  with  one  of  his  swift,  keen 
glances.  This  was  a  mood  in  which  he  had  never  seen 
her  before,  and  it  surprised  him.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
too  much  to  say  that  it  did  not  please  him,  but  at  least 
he  had  no  sympathy  for  it.  And  when  had  he  ever 
failed  in  sympathy  for  a  mood  of  hers  before  ? 

"  I  should  not  have  imagined,"  he  said,  "  that  you 
could  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  modem  epicureanism 
which  is  as  dead  to  every  aspiration  as  to  every  duty, 
which  is  contemptuous  of  all  the  hopes  and  fears  of  our 
common  humanity,  which  forms  for  itself  a  paradise  of 
the  senses  in  which  it  hears  nothing  of  the  great  move- 
ments of  mankind,  and  cares  nothing  for  the  great 
deeds  of  men  who  hold  life  to  have  been  given  for 
some  earnest  purpose." 

It  was  now  Cecil's  turn  to  look  at  him  with  surprise. 
"  Yotc  seem  very  much  in  earnest,"  she  said. 

He  langhed.  "More  in  earnest  than  the  subject 
deserves,  perhaps.  But  I  am  surprised  to  find  that 
such  a  philosophy — if  one  can  call  it  a  philosophy — 
should  possess  any  attraction  to  you." 

"  Are  you  surprised  ? "   she  said.     She  paused,  and 


"AY  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEXr  175 

her  glance  swept  over  tlie  beautiful  garden,  tlie  golden 
Yal  d'Arno  and  the  far  violet  heights.  "  That  is  be- 
cause you  know  me  only  imperfectly,"  she  said.  "  I 
always  told  you  so.  You  do  not  know  the  epicurean 
side  of  my  nature.  Yet  it  is  stronger,  perhaps,  than  any 
other.  And  to  these  influences  I  am  the  more  suscep- 
tible because  I  have  been  debarred  from  them  so  long 
and  so  hopelessly.  I  rush  toward  them  as  one  who  has 
been  imprisoned  in  the  dark  rushes  toward  sunlight. 
I  ask  nothing  better  than  to  enjoy  what  my  nature  has 
always  demanded  and  what  is  for  the  first  time  given 
to  it.''" 

'^I  comprehend  that,"  said  Lysle  in  a  softer  tone. 
"  But  I  know  you  better  than  you  think,  and  I  do  not 
believe  that  the  mere  enjoyment  of  beauty  through  the 
senses  and  the  intellect  can  satisfy  you.  Just  now,  as 
you  say,  your  nature  rushes  toward  it,  because  you 
have  the  artistic  temperament,  and  it  has  so  long  been 
forced  to  live  upon  husks.  But  you  have  a  power 
within  you  which  must  rise  from  mere  enjoyment  to 
something  higher.     I  am  sure  of  that." 

"Are  you?"  she  said  again,  meditatively.  "If  you 
are  sure — and  if  you  are  right — you  know  me  better 
than  I  know  myself.  For  I  am  not  sure :  I  think,  if 
Fate  allowed  it,  I  should  ask  nothing  better  than  merely 
to  enjoy  such  a  life  as  this.  See  how  the  light  quivers 
on  those  distant  heights,  how  exquisite  are  their  tints, 
how  Florence  shines  yonder  like  the  city  of  a  dream ! 
Only  think  where  you  found  me,  and  then  wonder, 
if  you  can,  that  I  feel  this  life  too  entrancing  for 
speech." 

"  I  do  not  wonder,"  said  Lysle,  a  little  sadly.     The 


176  MISS   CHURCHILL:    A   STUDY. 

accent  in  liis  own  voice  startled  liim.  Why  should  he 
be  sad  over  what  he  had  foreseen  and  desired — her 
passionate  enjoyment  of  this  new  life  ?  Was  it  because 
he  felt  that,  despite  her  gratitude  toward  him,  every 
influence  that  surrounded  her  was  separating  them 
farther,  rather  than  drawing  them  nearer  together,  than 
when  they  walked  under  the  pines  ? 


CHAPTEE  Y. 

That  evening  Ljsle  asked  the  niarcLesa  what  were 
her  plans  for  the  next  few  months. 

"  I  have  thought  of  going  to  London  for  the  season," 
she  answered.  ''  It  is  several  years  since  I  have  been 
there,  and  I  fancied  you  would  like  Miss  Churchill  to 
see  something  of  what  is  now — in  the  sad  decadence  of 
Paris — the  foremost  capital  of  the  world." 

He  smiled.  "  One  may  trust  you  to  think  of  every- 
thing. I  should  like  Miss  Chnrchill  to  enjoy  a  London 
season — and  I  had  hoped  to  be  there  also.  But  Fate, 
you  see,  has  ordered  otherwise — and  no  doubt  it  is  as 
well." 

The  marchesa  shook  her  head.  ^'  I  do  not  think  it 
is  as  well,"  she  answered.  "  I  wish  you  were  to  be 
there.     How  long  shall  you  remain  in  Egypt  ? " 

"  That  is  a  question  which  it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  answer.  I  may  return  in  a  few  weeks,  or  I  may  be 
detained  for  months.  It  depends  entirely  upon  the 
condition  of  affairs  over  which  I  have  no  control." 

"  If  you  return  in  a  few  weeks,  you  will  meet  us  in 
London  ? " 

"  Yes — if  I  return.  But  I  think  such  a  return  very 
doubtful,  and  as  I  observed  a  moment  ago,  it  is  as  well, 
nay,  it  is  better,  that  I  should  not  be  there." 


178  MISS   CHURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

She  looked  at  liim  quickly.  ^'  Wli j  do  you  frj 
that  ?     Why  is  it  better  1 "     she  asked. 

"  Because  there  is  no  telling  into  what  dej)th  of 
selfishness  one  may  fall,  and  it  is  possible  that,  after 
having  brought  a  prisoner  into  the  sunshine,  I  might 
grow  jealous  of  that  sunshine.  It  is  surely  well  to 
avoid  such  a  temptation." 

"  Bernard !  "  There  was  something  like  indignation 
in  the  marchesa's  voice.  "  You  shall  not  do  yourself 
injustice — to  me  who  know  you  so  well.  But  tell  me 
plainly  what  you  mean  :  what  have  you  discovered  in 
Miss  Churchill  since  you  came  ? " 

"  What  was  naturally  to  be  expected.  I  have  dis- 
covered that  if  I  had  yielded  to  my  own  wishes  and 
the  advice  of  others,  if  I  had  forged  any  claim  upon 
her  life  out  of  the  sympathy  which  existed  between  us 
when  we  were  together  last,  I  should  have  built  on  a 
foundation  of  sand.  / 1  was  something  to  her  then,  be- 
cause I  represented  the  world  from  which  she  was  ex- 
iled ;  I  am  nothing  now,  when  she  has  the  w^orld  itself, 
and  sees  its  culture  displayed  in  others." 

"  If  I  thought  that,  I  should  despise  her  !  "  said  the 
marchesa,  impetuously. 

*'  No !  "  said  Lysle,  in  a  tone  as  if  he  had  received  a 
blow — "  no.  For  Heaven's  sake,  do  not  misunderstand 
me !  What  I  mean  is  simply  this — that  our  sympathy 
over  yonder  did  not  rest  on  anything  personal  to  my- 
self, but  only  upon  certain  things  which  I  possess  in 
common  with  many  others,  but  from  which  she  was 
debarred.  I  brought  to  her  a  breath  of  the  world  for 
which  all  the  intellectual  strength,  all  the  artistic  pas- 
sion of  her  nature  yearned.     That  was  all.     JS^ow  that 


"  AY  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXr  179 

slie  possesses  it  and  enjoys  it  as  I  knew  that  she  could 
enjoy,  I  am  only  the  instrument  which  helped  her  to 
obtain  it.  Do  not  think  of  me — think  of  her,  and  you 
will  o^vn  that  it  is  natural." 

"  It  is  not  natural — unless  she  is  entirely  selfish  and 
self-absorbed.  She  should  be  able  to  appreciate  what 
you  are,  and  she  knows  what  she  owes  to  you." 

"  Granting  that  she  owed  me  ten  times  more  than 
she  does,  would  that  command  love  ?  O  wise  woman 
of  the  world,  how  can  you  be  so  foolish  because  your 
own  heart  speaks  for  me  \  She  is  as  grateful  as  you 
could  desire,  she  gives  me  her  confidence  freely,  her 
friendship  is  unchanged — but  I  hold  no  place  in  her 
life  which  makes  me  necessarv  to  her  in  the  least  de- 
gree.     All  is  said  in  that." 

The  marchesa  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  In 
the  fragrant  dusk,  which  had  softly  fallen  over  valley 
and  mountain,  they  were  slowly  pacing  the  southern 
terrace  on  which  the  windows  of  the  great  sola  opened. 
Through  these  windows  they  saw  the  beautiful,  stately 
room  with  its  globe-like  lamps,  while  above  them  stars 
began  to  gleam  out  in  the  tender  sky. 

"  If  all  this  be  true,"  said  the  soft  voice,  at  length, 
"  does  it  mean  that  you  give  up  hope  entirely  ? " 

"  Ah  !  " — he  laughed  a  little — ''  who  ever  gives  up 
hope  entirely  until  it  has  received  its  death-blow  in 
some  violent  fashion  ?  Common  sense,  indeed,  tells  me 
that  if  I  could  not  win  her  heart  in  the  solitude  where 
I  met  her  first,  where  I  had  no  rival,  and  where  I  em- 
bodied so  much  for  which  she  longed,  I  am  not  likely 
to  do  so  in  her  present  life  ;  yet  I  say  to  myself  that  it 
is  necessary  to  be  patient,  to  wait  a  little,  to  let  the  in- 


180  MISS  CHURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

toxication  of  novelty  subside,  to  give  her  judgment 
time  to  act,  lier  heart  time  to  speak.  And  so  it  is  best 
that  I  am  going  to  Egypt.  When  I  return — well,  then 
perhaps  hope  will  receive  its  violent  death-blow." 

"  If  so,  I  shall  hate  her.  Frankly,  I  tell  yon  that. 
And  meanwhile — what  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?  Shall 
I  go  to  London,  or  would  it  not  be  better  to  remain 
quietly  here  ? " 

"  Go  to  London  by  all  means.  Make  the  test  com- 
plete— let  her  enjoy  the  world  in  its  fullness.  God  for- 
bid that  I  should  throw  my  shadow  across  the  sunshine 
which  has  come  to  her  so  late,  and  for  which  sh.e  seems 
made !  Give  her  the  immense  advantages  which  it  is 
in  your  power  to  give,  and  believe  that,  whatever  the 
end  may  be,  I  shall  be  none  the  less  vour  debtor  for 
life." 

She  sighed  slightly.  "  So  be  it.  But  my  heart 
misgives  me.  If  you  are  right,  if  she  is  at  present  so 
insensible  to  you,  how  can  you  expect  anything  but 
complete  forgetfulness  when  you  are  absent,  and  she  is 
plunged  into  a  world  which  absorbs  and  dazzles  even 
those  who  are  most  accustomed  to  it  ?  " 

"  I  expect  nothing.  He  who  expects  anything  only 
prepares  disappointment  for  himself.  If  I  hope  a  lit- 
tle— knowing  well  that  hope  is  also  a  fallacy  amd  mis- 
take— that  is  my  own  affair,  and  I  am  prepared  to  bear 
the  consequences.  No  one  else  shall  bear  them — that  I 
promise  you.  For  the  rest,  remember  that  you  are 
serving  me  in  a  manner  which  I  can  never  repay  nor 
even  fitly  acknowledge,  when  you  open  to  her  every 
possible  door  of  enjoyment  and  of  intellectual  culture. 
And — one  thing  more — ^let  me  hear  from  you  now  and 


"Z.V  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEX:'  181 

then.  Tell  me  exactly  the  tnitli  witli  regard  to  her. 
You  can  see  all  that  I  could  if  I  were  with  her." 

The  marchesa  answered  only  by  the  pressure  of  the 
arm  on  which  she  leaned,  for  at  this  moment  a  figure 
stood  in  the  open  window  of  the  sala- — a  graceful  figure 
which  Lysle  once  thought  had  something  of  the  stateli- 
ness  of  the  pines  under  which  he  had  seen  it  fii*st.  In 
draperies  of  cream-colored  lace,  with  here  and  there  a 
touch  of  crimson,  it  was  a  figure  that  seemed  alto- 
gether in  keej^ing  with  the  rich  background  behind 
it  now. 

"  May  I  come  out  ?  "  said  Cecil.  "  That  is,  if  I  do 
not  interrupt — " 

"  You  interrupt  nothing,"'  said  the  marchesa.  "  Come 
and  join  us  for  the  few  minutes  that  remain  before  din- 
ner. I  have  just  been  telling  Bernard  that  he  must  en- 
deavor to  let  us  see  him  in  London  before  the  season  is 
over." 

"  Oh,  you  will,  surely  you  will !  "  said  Cecil,  turning 
toward  him.  "  I  have  looked  forward  to  seeing  you 
there  so  certainly  !  You  know  you  have  told  me  more 
of  London  than  of  anything  else,  and  it  is  therefore 
60  closely  associated  with  you.  It  would  be  a  great 
disappointment  if  you  were  not  there  to  pilot  me 
through  the  strange,  new  world  in  which  I  shall  find 
myself." 

"  You  will  have  the  best  of  all  possible  pilots,"  he 
said.  "  With  her  you  could  not  miss  me,  or  any  one 
else." 

"  The  marchesa  herself,"  said  Cecil,  "  will   be  the 

first  to  understand  how  much  I  shall  miss  you." 

*'  I  understand  it  so  well,"  said  the  marchesa,  "  that 
IG 


182  ■^■^'5'^  CnURCniLL:    A  STUDY. 

I  insist  upon  his  returning  at  the  first  moment  he  pos- 
sibly can. — Mind,  Bernard,  there  is  to  be  no  excuse,  no 
playing  one  false — " 

"  I  do  not  think,"  he  said,  quietly,  '^  that  there  is  the 
least  hope  of  my  being  in  England  again  for  several 
months.  If  you  will  understand  that,  there  need  be  no 
disappointment.  You  see,"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  "  I 
have  faith.  I  believe  in  the  possibility  of  the  disap- ' 
pointment." 

"  You  would  be  very  ungrateful  if  you  did  not  be- 
lieve in  it,"  said  the  marchesa.  "  But  here  is  Nina,  and 
dinner  will  be  announced  in  a  moment." 

Turning,  she  entered  the  sola,  where  the  young 
contessa  had  appeared.  But  Lysle  and  Cecil  lingered 
yet  a  moment  in  the  magic  twilight.  Around  them 
the  earth  seemed  exhaling  perfume,  above  the  skies  be- 
gan to  assume  the  soft,  luminous  purple  tint  which  is 
always  associated  with  Florence,  while  the  darkening 
outlines  of  the  mountains  were  still  visible  along  the 
horizon.  There  was  a  short  silence,  then  Cecil  spoke 
in  a  voice,  so  low  that  it  came  almost  in  a  whisper 
to  Lysle's  ear,  yet  had  in  it  a  suggestion  of  tender- 
ness : 

"  Do  you  mean  that  there  is  no  hope  that  I  shall  see 
you  in  London  ? " 

His  heart  stirred  under  the  softness  of  the  tone,  the 
control  in  which  he  held  himself  involuntarily  relaxed 
a  little,  he  turned  quickly  toward  her. 

"  Does  it  matter  to  you  ?  "  he  asked.  ^'  Would  you 
be  really  disappointed  if  I  were  not  there  ? " 

"  How  can  you  doubt  it  ?  "  she  answered.  "  You 
said  a  moment  ago  that  you  had  faith,  but  if  so  you 


"AY  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEX:'  183 

would  not  question  whether  or  not  it  mattered  to  me. 
It  matters  very  much.  I  shall  be  more  than  disap- 
pointed if  jou  are  not  there." 

He  did  not  speak  immediately.  Had  he  done  so  he 
would  have  said,  impetuously,  "  I  shall  be  there  "  ;  but 
he  paused,  he  reflected,  and  finally  he  said : 

''  Unfortunately,  it  does  not  depend  upon  me  whether 
or  not  I  can  be  there.  What  I  have  undertaken  has 
become  a  duty  which  must  be  fulfilled  at  any  cost.  And 
it  will  be  a  heavy  cost  to  disappoint  you.  But  it  may 
be  necessary.  My  consolation  is  that  the  disappoint- 
ment will  not  last  long." 

"  What  do  you  mean  %  "  she  asked,  quickly. 

"  I  mean  that  the  life  you  will  lead  will  give  you  no 
time  to  think  of  the  absent,  and  I  could  be  of  no  real 
use  to  you  if  I  were  there.  I  could  only  stand  by  to 
witness  your  enjoyment,  and  it  is  possible  that  my  pres- 
ence might  remind  you  of  things  which  you  would  pre- 
fer to  forget." 

"  Of  what  can  your  presence  ever  remind  me  except 
that  but  for  you  I  should  still  be  imprisoned,  as  hope- 
lessly as  when  you  found  me  ? " 

"  It  is  just  that  I  should  like  you  to  forget.  When 
you  look  at  me  now  you  are  reminding  yourself  to  be 
grateful — and  that  is  not  pleasant  either  for  you  or  for 
me.  Also,  I  recall  to  your  consciousness,  so  to  speak, 
influences  and  memories  which  you  declared  yesterday 
were  ineffaceable.  I  am  sure  that  they  are  not  inefface- 
able ;  but,  since  I  am  the  one  link  of  association  between 
them  and  your  present  existence,  it  is  well  that  I  should 
be  removed — for  a  time  at  least.  When  I  see  you  again, 
we  can  better  determine  how  we  stand  toward  each 


184:  ^I'SS  CEURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

otlier.     You  will  have  taken  root  in  this  life  to  which 
jou  belong,  and  I — " 

He  paused  abruptly.  Was  it  well  or  ill  that  at  this 
moment  the  announcement  of  dinner  was  made  in  the 
sola  behind  them  ?  Ljsle  laughed  as  he  offered  his 
arm.  ''  Let  me  take  you  in,"  he  said,  "  and  believe  that, 
though  I  speak  with  so  much  philosophy  of  what  is 
best,  if  I  can  I  will  be  in  London  before  the  season 
ends." 


CHAPTEE  YI. 

It  was  well  that  Ljsle  qualified  his  promise  to  be  in 
London,  for  events  rendered  its  fulfillment  impossible. 
While  the  London  season  was  at  its  height,  the  disaffec- 
tion in  Egypt  culminated  in  revolt,  events  followed 
each  other  with  startling  rapidity,  early  in  June  the 
fleets  were  in  Egyptian  waters,  and,  with  the  bombard- 
ment of  Alexandria  on  the  10th  of  July,  war  began. 

But  in  the  interval  between  the  latter  event  and  the 
day  on  which  he  left  Florence,  Lysle's  chief  interest 
was  not  in  palace  intrigues,  in  the  ominous  signs  of 
revolution,  or  in  the  complications  which  might  make 
the  life  of  every  European  in  Egypt  unsafe,  but  in  the 
letters  which  reached  him  now  and  then  from  the  mar- 
chesa.  After  she  had  conveyed  herself  and  her  house- 
hold to  London  she  wrote  frequently,  divining  exactly 
what  he  wished  to  know,  and  telling  it  w^ith  graphic 
directness.  As  he  read  her  pages,  familiar  pictures 
opened  before  him — drawing-rooms,  ball-rooms,  parks, 
gardens,  flower-shows,  concerts,  all  the  varied  scenes 
through  which  the  great  world  revolves  in  the  brilliant 
masque  called  society,  all  forming  a  background  for 
one  figure,  full  of  grace  and  majesty,  yet  with  some- 
thing foreign  in  its  striking  beauty.  His  imagination 
perceived  this  at  once,  when  he  thought  of  Cecil  among 


186  MI'SS  CnURCniLL:    A  STUDY. 

the  figures  tliat  be  knew  so  well ;  conventional  figures, 
all  bearing  tbe  stamp  of  tbeir  world,  and  be  was  not 
surprised  tbat  tbe  marcbesa  alluded  to  tbe  difference  in 
one  of  ber  first  letters. 

"  Miss  Cburcbill,"  sbe  wrote,  *'  bas  already  created 
a  sensation,  and  I  tbink  tbat  sbe  will  be  one  of  tbe 
beauties  of  tbe  season.  You,  wbo  know  London  so 
w^ell,  know  wbat  tbis  means — wbat  a  royalty  beauty  is 
bere,  even  wben  its  possessor  bas  no  sucb  advantage  of 
introduction  as  I  am  able  to  give.  I  need  bardly  say 
tbat  tbe  little  farce  of  '  companionsbip '  is  by  tbis  time 
laid  entirely  aside,  and  tbat  tbe  world  knows  ber  only 
as  my  friend  and  guest.  Tbis  is  not  alone  for  your 
sake,  my  dear  Bernard — I,  too,  am  interested  in  ber 
success,  in  seeing  wbat  sbe  will  become,  in  watcbing 
tbe  expansion  of  ber  nature  and  ber  powers.  Sbe  is  a 
brilliant  creature,  witb  a  toucb  of  strangeness  in  ber 
beauty  as  in  ber  cbaracter,  an  originality,  an  unconven- 
tional stamp  wbicli  attracts  wonderfully.  I  bave  no 
doubt  tbat,  in  tbe  society  from  wbicb  sbe  came,  sbe 
seemed  no  less  a  creature  from  anotber  world  tban 
sbe  does  bere.  For  ber  strangeness  is  not  want  of 
barmony.  It  is  sometliing  w^bicb  sets  ber  apart  from 
otbers,  yet  makes  tbe  difference  unfavorable  to  tbem, 
not  to  ber.  You  will  understand  tbis.  I  tbink  it 
probable  tbat  some  people  migbt  not. 

"  One  tbing  wbich  strikes  me  very  mucb  is  tbe 
faultlessness  of  ber  instincts.  Sbe  makes  no  mistakes. 
In  tbe  people  sbe  bkes,  in  tbe  tbings  sbe  admires,  sbe 
seems  guided  by  a  fastidious,  artistic  judgment  wbicb 
is  astonisbing  in  one  wbo  bas  seen  so  little  of  tbe  world. 
Are  tbere,  after  all,  some  rare  natures  for  wbom  actual 


."/iV  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEXr  187 

experience  is  unnecessary — or  necessary  only  in  degree — 
natures  that  by  some  inward  light  seize  at  once  upon 
what  is  best  and  make  it  their  own  ?  At  present  she  is 
absorbing  knowledge  at  every  pore — that  wide,  com- 
prehensive knowledge  of  the  world,  of  art,  of  society, 
which  you  have  desired  for  her.  To  see  such  a  nature 
brouo:ht  for  the  first  time  in  contact  with  such  influ- 
ences  and  developing  under  them  like  a  flower  in  sun- 
shine, is  a  study  so  interesting  that  I  wish  for  you  con- 
stantly— you  to  whom  it  properly  belongs — to  observe 
how  quickly  she  responds  to  all  these  new  impressions, 
and  how  stimulating  their  effect  is  upon  her.- ' 

A  fortnight  later  the  marchesa  wrote : 

"  I  can  not  tell  you  how  much  Cecil  is  admired  by 
those  whose  admiration  sets  the  fashion  for  the  world. 
The  distinction  of  her  beauty  and  her  brilliant  intel- 
lectual qualities  have  united  to  charm  many  whom  or- 
dinary beauties  do  not  charm  at  all.  She  has  become 
the  fashion  to  a  degree  that  might  turn  any  woman's 
head,  but  hers  remains  wonderfully  cool.  I  do  not 
think  she  cares  much  for  mere  social  success  ;  and  the 
fact  that  after  the  first  exciting  novelty  has  worn  off, 
fashionable  society  rather  bores  her,  lends  an  indiffer- 
ence to  her  manner  which  gives  the  impression  of  one 
who  has  been  surfeited  with  homage,  and  which  con- 
trasts effectively  with  her  quick,  responsive  animation 
when  touched  by  anything  that  really  rouses  her  inter- 
est and  enthusiasm.     *  What  a  study  that  girl  is  ! '  said 

K ,  the  Academician,  to  me  the  other  day.     *  Her 

beauty  is  quite  extraordinary  in  its  character ;  but  there 
is  so  much  in  her  besides  her  beauty !     Pray  tell  me, 


188  ^ISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

from  what  planet  does  she  come  ?  Evidently  from  one 
where  she  has  received  a  very  sublimated  order  of  im- 
pressions.' 

"  I  laughed.  '  She  does  not  strike  yon,  then,  as  one 
to  whom  all  impressions  are  new  ? ' 

a  ( Yerj  far  from  it,'  he  replied  ;  '  rather  like  one 
who  is  trying  all  that  is  offered  her  by  some  standard  of 
previous  experience — which  we  have  the  misfortune  to 
fall  below  very  often.' 

"  You  will  see  in  this  what  an  effect  the  fastidious 
attitude  of  which  I  have  spoken  has  upon  others.     Of 

course,  I  did  not  enlighten  R .     What  is  the  good  ? 

A  mystery  stimulates  interest,  and  there  is  nothing  to 
do  her  any  harm  in  this — that  people  should  believe 
her  experience  greater  than  it  is,  and  that  the  admira- 
tion now  wafted  to  her  like  incense  should  be  supposed 
to  have  encompassed  her  always.  Apropos,  I  must  tell 
you  a  little  conversation  which  we  had  last  night. 
After  sucb  a  day  of  varied  engagements  as  only  London 
can  offer,  we  concluded  with  a  ball  at  the  Greek  em- 
bassy, the  most  magnificent  affair  of  the  season  so  far. 
The  embassador,  you  know,  is  a  connection  of  mine, 
and  the  occasion  emphasized  Cecil's  social  triumph  in 
the  most  brilliant  manner.  She  bore  herself  so  admira- 
bly through  it,  with  so  much  grace  and  tact,  that  I  felt 
a  curiosity  to  know,  for  once,  what  lay  below  the  quiet 
surface.  When  we  were  in  the  carriage  driving  home, 
I  said  : 

"  '  I  wish  that  Bernard  could  have  seen  you  to- 
night. The  complete  fulfillment  of  all  his  hopes,  of  all 
his  prophecies,  would  have  pleased  him.' 

"  She  turned  to  me  quickly.     '  Do  you  think  that  it 


"  IZV  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEXy  189 

would  ? '  slie  said.  '  I  am  not  sure.  Mx.  Ljsle  did  not 
anticipate  social  success  for  me — at  least  not  in  the 
measure  in  which  it  has  come — and  I  do  not  think  that 
he  would  value  it.' 

" '  Oh,  you  mistake,'  I  answered.  '  He  is  too  much 
a  man  of  the  world  not  to  value  it  for  all  that  it  is 
worth.  And  it  is  worth  a  good  deal.  The  approval  of 
London  is  not  to  be  despised — so  many  trained  and 
critical  forces  go  to  the  making  of  it.' 

"  She  caught  my  hand  suddenly  between  both  of 
hers.  '  Can  you  tell  me,'  she  said,  '  what  it  is  in  me 
that  has  won  this  approval,  that  makes  people  regard  me 
as  if  I  were  a  celebrity,  and  crowd  about  me  as  if  I  had 
done  something  to  merit  attention  ?  It  is  all  very  puz- 
zling. Granting  that  I  am  beautiful — and  at  home  no 
one  ever  thought  so — why  should  mere  beauty  have 
such  power  ? ' 

" '  That  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  the  world,'  said 
I,  half  laughing.  '  Here  in  England,  beauty  is  like  roy- 
alty— all  doors  open  to  it,  all  the  ordinary  conditions  of 
life  are  reversed  by  it.  And  your  beauty  happens  to  be 
of  an  order  which  pleases  the  artistic  taste  of  the  day, 
which  is  indeed  its  complete  realization.  H  you  had 
entered  London  society  in  an  obscure  manner  you  would 
probably  by  this  time  have  become  the  fashion  ;  but 
entering  it  as  you  did — ' 

"  Here  she  lifted  my  hand  to  her  lips  with  one  of 
her  charming  gestures.  '  I  know,'  she  said,  '  all  that  I 
owe  to  you.  A  stick  would  have  floated  with  your  in- 
troduction. But  do  you  know  it  humiliates  me  if  I  owe 
all  this  triumph  to  my  beauty  alone  1  I  have  something 
more  in  me,  have  I  not  ?     Mr.  Lysle  thought  so.' 


190  MISS  CUURCniLL:    A  STUDY. 

''  I  wisli  I  could  tell  jou  liow  lier  voice  softened  as 
she  uttered  jour  name ;  I  wisli  I  could  express  the  pe- 
culiar tone  of  confidence  tliat  came  into  it. 

"  ^  Yes,'  I  answered,  '  you  have  much  more  in  you, 
and  it  is  that  which  influences  and  moves  those  whom 
your  beauty  in  the  first  23lace  attracts.     Do  you  think 

that- and (I  named  two  or  three  of  the  most 

intellectual  men  among  our  special  intimates)  would  be 
devoted  to  you  as  they  are,  if  you  were  only  a  fashion- 
able beauty  ?  ISTo ;  they  perceive,  in  degree  at  least, 
what  Bernard  saw  in  you — w^hat  made  him  desire  so 
ardently  that  you  should  have  the  education  of  a  full, 
rich,  and  varied  experience.' 

"  '  How  wise  he  was — and  how  kind  ! '  she  said,  as 
if  to  herself.  '  And  what  an  education  it  is,  this  which 
he  desired  for  me,  and  which  he  made  possible !  Some- 
times I  have  a  feeling  as  if  all  these  people  were  show- 
ing themselves  to  me  only  in  order  that  I  might  study 
them,  as  if  all  the  innumerable  by-plays  of  society  were 
revealed,  and  all  its  phenomena  displayed  like  a  great 
drama,  in  which  I  have  no  part  but  that  of  a  spectator, 
as  it  is  said  the  artist  should  be.' 

" '  I  do  not  think  you  will  always  be  simply  a  spec- 
tator,' said  I.  '  It  is  not  enough  to  study  life,  one  must 
live  it  if  one  would  be  truly  an  artist.' 

"  I  might  have  added  that  one  so  rich  in  its  vital 
energy  could  not  avoid  living  it  in  the  deepest  sense  ; 
but  the  carriage  and  the  conversation  stopped  together 
just  then. 

"  If  this  report  of  her  own  words  does  not  tell  yon 
much  of  her  development,  it  will  at  least  tell  you  of  her 
recollection  of  yourself,  of  her  grateful  sense  of  all  that 


"AY  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXy  191 

she  owes  to  you.     And  to  that,  I  am  sure,  you  will  not 
be  insensible." 

Ljsle  was  so  far  from  insensible,  that  iLis  letter 
stirred  in  him  a  passionate  desire  to  fulfill  his  promise 
to  go  to  London.  But  nothing  could  have  been  less 
possible  at  that  time.  Better,  perhaps,  than  any  other 
European  in  Egypt,  he  knew  on  what  a  volcano  the 
country  stood ;  he  was  aware  of  all  the  disaffection  in 
the  air,  the  intrigues  that  abounded,  the  irresistible  op- 
portunity which  to  the  Oriental  mind  the  weakness  of 
the  ruler  presented.  To  leave  then  would  have  been  as 
if  a  soldier  had  forsaken  liis  post  on  the  eve  of  battle. 
He  curbed  his  desire,  therefore,  controlled  his  impa- 
tience, and  said  to  himself,  ''  I  can  wait."  But  he 
watched  more  eagerly  than  ever  for  the  letters  of  the 
marchesa ;  and  this  was  the  next  which  reached  him  : 

*'  It  has  been  some  time  since  I  wrote  to  you  last, 
but  you  know  how  it  is  when  the  season  reaches  its 
heio^ht — how  one  is  hurried  and  driven  bv  the  multi- 
plicity  of  one's  engagements ;  and,  when  one  is  fairly 
drawn  into  the  current,  how  every  hour  makes  its  spe- 
cial demand  upon  one.  The  strain  is  very  great,  and  I 
am  surprised  to  see  how  well  Cecil  bears  it.  Instead  of 
fatiguing,  the  life  seems  to  stimulate  her  to  an  extraor- 
dinary degree,  and  I  often  look  with  wonder  at  the 
luster  which  excitement  lends  to  her  beautv.  There  is 
a  great  change  in  her  since  you  saw  her  last.  Xo  doubt 
you  anticipated  it,  yet  I  think  that  it  would  surprise 
you.  The  homage  of  admiration  which  she  receives, 
the  growing  sense  of  her  own  power  as  she  measures 
herself  with  others,  does  not  elate  her  in  any  vulgar 


192  MISS  CEUEGEILL:    A  STUDY. 

sense,  but  it  seems  to  give  lier  a  superb  self-possession 
which  makes  her  walk  through  this  strange,  new  world 
like  a  princess  who  has  taken  possession  of  her  inher- 
itance. And  she  is  no  longer  regarded  merely  as  a 
fashionable  beauty.  Those  who  come  near  enough  to 
appreciate  her  mental  powers  are  as  much  impressed  as 
you  could  desire.  Poets,  artists,  intellectual  men  of  all 
orders,  are  alike  struck  with  her,  and  echo  your  judg- 
ment. 

*'  Somewhat  to  my  surprise,  the  other  day,  Herbert 
Dorrian  suddenly  appeared.  Of  course,  he  fell  at  once 
into  his  accustomed  place  in  my  drawing-room — a  place 
of  easy  intimacy  which  he  quietly  takes  as  a  prescriptive 
right,  wherever  that  drawing-room  may  chance  to  be.  I 
am  amused  by  his  unobtrusive  but  attentive  study  of 
Cecil.  What  it  means  exactly — how  far  or  in  what  de- 
gree he  is  interested — I  can  not  determine ;  but  of  the 
interest  itself  there  can  be  no  doubt.  He  is  generally 
near  her,  he  watches  her  closely,  and  I  think  that  he 
has  more  influence  over  her  tastes,  sentiments,  and  opin- 
ions than  any  one  else. 

"  I  have  hesitated  whether  or  not  to  tell  you  this, 
but  I  think  it  best  to  be  frank,  and  you  know  Dorrian 
well  enough  to  estimate  all  that  it  probably  means.  A 
passionate  admirer  of  beauty  and  a  constant  seeker  for 
new  and  refined  intellectual  impressions,  he  is  the  last 
man  in  the  world  to  be  interested  beyond  a  certain  point 
— a  point  that  you  will  not  need  for  me  to  indicate." 

A  little  later  came  a  letter  which  said  : 

"  We  are  all  greatly  excited  over  the  state  of  affairs 
in  Egypt.     The  massacre  in  Alexandria  the  other  day 


"/xY  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXP  193 

lias  made  every  one  who  lias  a  relative  or  friend  in  tlie 
country  tremble.  I  have  confidence  in  your  fortunate 
star,  and  still  more  in  your  knowledge  of  the  leaders 
and  their  friendship  for  you  ;  yet  I  wish  you  were  safely 
out  of  it.  I  was  talking  to  a  member  of  the  Govern- 
ment last  night  who  frankly  admitted  that  he  feared 
that  war  was  inevitable.  Having  fettered  the  Khedive 
so  that  the  weakness  of  his  rule  has  produced  revolt,  we 
must  now  put  down  the  revolt.  So  much  seems  neces- 
sary.    But  what  else  will  be  necessary  ?     Who  can  say  ? 

"  The  news  of  the  massacre  was  brought  into  my 
drawing-room  one  afternoon  by  young  Rawdon,  of  the 
Foreign  Office.  It  chanced  to  be  my  day  of  reception, 
and  at  five  o'clock  the  room  was  very  full.  The  inter- 
est and  excitement  about  Egypt  are  so  great,  that  the 
news  passed  like  wild-fire  from  group  to  group.  Cecil 
was  at  the  tea-table,  and  I  saw  her  suddenly  put  down 
a  cup  which  she  held,  while  her  change  of  color  was 
perceptibly  marked. 

"  *  A  massacre ! '  she  said.  And  then  she  turned  to 
me.     '  Where  is  Mr.  Lysle  ? '  she  asked,  quickly. 

'^ '  He  is  in  Cairo,'  young  Rawdon  answered  before 
I  could  speak.  '  There  is  no  fear  for  him — at  least  not 
unless  matters  advance  far  beyond  their  present  point.' 

" '  I  should  not  fancy  that  there  was  likely  to  be 
danger  for  him  at  any  point,'  said  Dorrian,  who  was,  as 
usual,  near  Cecil.  '  Generally  speaking,  even  barbarians 
are  aware  that  a  "  special  correspondent "  is  very  in- 
offensive.' 

"  You  will  pardon  me  for  repeating  this  speech, 
when  I  tell  vou  that  Cecil  turned  on  him  with  a  flash 

**  -     - 

of  anger  and  indignation, 
17 


lU  ^ISS  CEURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  ^  Have  yon  any  idea  of  the  dangers  Mr.  Lysle  lias 
run,  the  perils  he  has  braved,  that  you  speak  of  him  in 
that  manner  ? '  she  asked.  '  With  those  who  know  him 
best,  his  name  is  a  synonym  for  daring — and,  wherever 
there  is  daring,  there  is  danger.' 

"  Rawdon  nodded.  '  You  are  quite  right.  Miss 
Churchill,'  he  said.  '  Lysle' s  daring  is  well  known,  and 
he  will  certainly  never  be  behind  where  there  is  danger. 
But  I  really  don't  think  that,  for  him,  there  is  the  least 
danger  now.  He  knows  Egypt  so  well,  has  so  entirely 
the  confidence  of  the  Arabs,'  etc. — I  spare  you  the  rest, 
since  you  know  your  own  position  much  better  than 
young  Rawdon  does. 

"  But  he  reassured  Cecil,  which  was  the  chief  point ; 
and  I  was  amused  to  perceive  how  completely  she 
turned  a  cold  shoulder  to  Mr.  Dorrian  after  that.  I  do 
not  think  it  has  happened  to  this  gentleman  for  a  long 
time  to  be  treated  with  so  much  disdain.  Usually  he  is 
supremely  master  of  any  situation  upon  which  he  en- 
ters, and  there  must  be  a  very  decided  flavor  of  novelty 
to  him  in  the  insensibility  which  Cecil  has  always  mani- 
fested to  his  importance,  and  the  difficulty  which  he 
experienced  in  reinstating  himself  in  her  good  graces 
after  that  unlucky  speech  about  you. 

''  I  wish  more  than  ever  that  you  could  come,  but  T 
recognize  that  such  a  thing  can  not  be  looked  for  now. 
If  war  is  indeed  imminent,  there  is  no  hope  of  seeing 
you  until  it  is  over.  God  keep  you  safely,  and,  when  the 
end  comes,  I  trust  that  you  may  find  a  reward  awaiting 
you  for  the  dangers  through  which  you  have  passed !" 

It  was  fortunate,  perhaps,  for  Lysle,  that  this  last 


"ZiY  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXy  I95 

letter  was  of  so  cheering  a  tone ;  for,  in  the  rusli  of 
stirring  events,  it  was  long  before  he  received  another. 
The  history  of  the  brief  campaign  which  ended  at  Tel- 
el-Kebir  is  written  in  contemporary  history,  and  until  it 
ended  he  had  little  time  for  thought  of  his  own  affairs. 
With  the  advance  guard  of  the  army,  sharing  all  its 
dangers  and  hardships,  his  friends  behind  heard  much 
of  him  from  his  vivid  letters  to  the  press,  but  he  heard 
little  of  them  until  everything  was  over,  Arabi  a  pris- 
oner, his  army  surrendered,  and  the  Khedive  once  more 
in  possession  of  such  measure  of  authority  as  was  al- 
lowed him  by  his  foreign  dictators. 

Again  in  Cairo,  Lysle  found  a  letter  from  the  mar- 
chesa  written  in  Switzerland,  but  promising  to  be  at 
her  villa  near  Florence  by  the  end  of  September,  and 
begging  him  to  meet  her  there.  "  By  that  time  surely 
your  labors  will  be  over,"  she  said,  "  and  you  must  need 
a  change  from  that  horrible  Egyptian  climate." 

The  change  was,  indeed,  imperatively  necessary. 
When  he  saw  the  coast  of  Egypt  sink  behind  him  a 
few  weeks  later,  Lysle  felt  that  relief  had  not  come  a 
day  too  soon. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

And  how  grateful  to  ejes  fresli  from  the  sun- 
parched  Orient  were  the  oak  and  chestnut  woods,  the 
deep  shade  of  the  ilex,  the  shadow  of  the  cypress,  and 
the  glory  of  the  vines  of  Italy !  In  the  terrible  heat 
of  the  desert,  how  often  Lysle  had  dreamed  of  the  de- 
licious depths  of  that  villa-garden  above  Yal  d'Arno 
of  its  shadowy  avenues,  its  tangled  thickets,  its  musical 
fountains,  its  varied  charm  of  coolness,  of  beauty  and 
of  repose  !  He  had,  indeed,  thought  of  it  so  persistently 
and  with  such  a  sense  of  longing,  that  he  was  almost 
incredulous  when  he  found  himself  drawing  near  it. 
Yet  this  incredulity  did  not  detract  from  his  keen  and 
eager  pleasure.  For  once  he  had  forgotten  his  belief 
that  the  thing  which  we  desire  is  not  the  thing  which 
life  grants ;  he  had  a  sense  as  if  Fate  had  relented,  as  if 
he  were  about  to  put  out  his  hand  and  grasp  a  supreme 
gift.  "  Why  not  I  as  well  as  another  ? "  he  thought. 
"After  all,  other  men  secure  sometimes  that  which  they 
desire  above  everything  else.  Why  not  I  ?  One  may 
lose  one's  fortune  by  distrusting  it.  I  will  distrust  no 
longer :  I  will  be  bold  enough  to  take — if  I  may  !  " 

The  resolution  seemed  to  animate  his  hope.  There 
was  hardly  a  shadow  of  faint-hearted  fear  about  him 
when  he  reached  the  villa  late  in  the  golden  afternoon. 


"  AV  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEX:'  197 

The  marchesa,  he  was  told,  was  taking  tea  in  the  south 
loggm  with  a  party  of  friends,  and  there  he  was  con- 
ducted. It  was  a  very  picturesque  scene  on  which  he 
entered — the  group,  in  dresses  that  might  have  been 
taken  from  the  canvases  of  famous  pictures,  gathered 
on  the  marble  pavement  in  chairs  of  gilded  osier,  with 
rich  Eastern  rugs  beneath  their  feet,  old  frescoes  look- 
ing down  upon  them,  and  through  wide  arches  all  the 
beauty  of  Yal  d'Amo  spread  before  their  eyes — the 
valley  swimming  in  rosy,  golden  light,  the  dream-like 
domes  of  Florence,  and  the  misty  purple  of  mountain- 
heights  beyond. 

The  marchesa  came  forward  to  receive  him  with 
eager  cordiality.  "  My  dear  Bernard,"  she  said,  "  how 
happy  I  am  to  see  you  at  last!  But  how  thin  you  are 
looking,  and  how  sunburned  !  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  answered,  "  but  I  am  quite  well, 
and  need  nothing  save  a  little  rest  in  your  enchanted 
domain.  Ah  ! " — with  a  quick  glance  around  him — 
"  how  beautiful  and  how  grateful  to  the  eyes  it  is,  when 
one  is  just  from  Egypt ! " 

She  smiled,  and  drew  him  forward.  "  You  will  find 
several  of  your  friends  here,"  she  said.  "  This  is  al- 
most entirely  an  English  party.  They  are  all  anxious 
to  see  you." 

''  Yes,"  said  Lysle,  absently.  His  eyes,  as  he  spoke, 
wandered  over  the  group.  There  were,  indeed,  many 
familiar  faces  there,  but  it  needed  no  second  glance  to 
assure  him  that  one  face  was  absent — the  face  that  had 
shone  before  him  like  a  star  over  all  the  weary  leagues 
that  lay  between  the  Nile  and  the  Arno. 

The  marchesa  caught  the  glance  and  understood  it. 


198  ^ISS  CEURCEILL:    A  STUDY, 

"  Miss  Cliurcliill  was  here  a  few  minutes  ago,"  slie  said, 
"but  two  or  three  people  have  wandered  into  the  gar- 
dens— she  among  them.  But  she  will  return  presently. 
Meanwhile,  here  is  your  old  friend  Mrs.  Ferrers." 

Lysle  greeted  his  old  friend  Mrs.  Ferrers — a  pretty 
woman  of  fashion — and  several  other  old  friends  of 
the  same  order.  Indeed,  but  for  the  setting  of  the 
scene,  he  might  have  fancied  that  it  was  a  London 
drawing-room.  There  were  one  or  two  Italians  present, 
but  the  majority  of  the  group  were  English — people 
who  after  the  season  had  gone  to  the  Continent,  and 
who  from  Switzerland  or  the  Tyrol,  Lucca  or  Venice, 
found  it  pleasant  to  pass  to  Florence  and  the  Yilla  Fer- 
rata.  Egypt,  and  the  campaign  lately  ended,  was  a 
subject  of  absorbing  interest  with  them,  so  Lysle  was 
soon  encompassed  by  attentive  faces.  They  were  eager 
to  hear  all  that  he  could  tell  them,  and  showered  ques- 
tions upon  him  which  he  endeavored  to  answer  in  the 
manner  expected,  with  animation  and  interest ;  but  a 
sense  of  disappointment  weighed  upon  him,  like  the 
familiar  face  of  an  unwelcome  acquaintance  which  sud- 
denly appeared  when  he  had  fancied  himself  free  from 
its  haunting  presence. 

The  marchesa,  who  perceived  the  effort,  presently 
came  to  his  relief.  "My  dear  Bernard,"  she  said,  "all 
this  is  very  interesting  to  us,  but  I  fear  that  it  can  not 
be  as  much  so  to  you.  By  this  time  deserts,  battles, 
and  skirmishes  must  have  lost  their  novelty — and  yon- 
der comes  Miss  Churchill,  whom  you  have  not  yet  seen." 

Lysle  looked  around  quickly  ;  his  heart  gave  a  great 
throb,  and  then  seemed  to  stand  still.  For  it  was  in- 
deed Cecil  approaching,  but  by  her  side  walked  a  man 


"7iV  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXy  199 

whose  air  and  maDiier  struck  liim  with  a  sudden  sense 
of  apprehension.  He  glanced  involuntarily  at  the  mar- 
chesa.  As  her  eyes  met  his  own  an  expression  in  them 
seemed  to  transform  apprehension  into  certainty. 

He  rose  and  went  forward  quietly.  The  man  was 
Dorrian — he  had  recognized  him  at  once,  as  quickly  as 
he  had  recognized  the  meaning  of  a  manner  which  it 
is  doubtful  whether  any  one  besides  himself  could  have 
perceived.  Cecil — dressed  in  creamy  white,  with  a  knot 
of  oleander  in  her  bosom — was  looking  more  beautiful 
than  even  his  memory  had  painted  her,  and  she  greeted 
him  with  a  warmth  which  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 
For  a  moment,  while  her  hand  lay  in  his,  and  her  deep, 
golden  eyes  were  lifted  to  his  face,  he  felt  like  one 
long  famished  who  has  reached  the  cool  spring  of  his 
desire.  But  when  he  turned  to  Dorrian,  the  brief  spell 
was  broken  ;  he  was  conscious  again  of  the  dreary  sense 
of  failure  which  had  all  his  life  pursued  him  where  he 
wished  most  for  success. 

And  yet  there  was  nothing  in  Dorrian's  manner 
which  to  the  ordinary  observer  could  have  justified  this 
impression.  But  it  was  Lysle's  good  or  bad  fortune  to 
possess  a  quickness  of  perception  which  leaped  with 
lightning-like  rapidity  to  conclusions  that  were  seldom 
if  ever  ^vrong.  He  had  tested  the  accuracy  of  this  per- 
ception so  often,  that  it  never  occuri'ed  to  him  now  to 
doubt  it ;  and  when  he  dropped  Cecil's  hand,  it  was  with 
a  sense  of  loss  which  to  the  unimaginative  would  have 
seemed  strangely  misplaced. 

Meanwhile  Cecil  said  :  "  How  grateful  I  am  to  see 
you  back  again  in  safety,  Mr.  Lysle !  "We  have  been 
very  anxious  about  you." 


200  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  he  answered,  "  but  there  was 
really  no  need  for  anxiety.  From  Oriental  association, 
perhaps,  I  have  become  a  thorough  fatalist.  Exposure 
to  danger  counts  for  little  with  me.  When  the  hour 
of  Fate  comes,  nothing  can  save  me.  Until  then,  I  am 
immortal." 

Something  in  his  tone  made  her  look  at  him  with 
surprise.  "  But  you  will  acknowledge  that  the  hour 
can  be  hastened  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  it,"  he  replied.  ''  I  have  seen 
despairing  men  court  death — which  refused  to  come, 
let  their  exposure  to  danger  be  what  it  would.  The 
bravest  man  who  wears  the  uniform  of  England  at  this 
moment — the  famous  soldier  who  is  known  as  Chinese 
Gordon — thinks  as  I  do.  He  avoids  peiil  so  little  that 
men  who  have  served  under  him  believe  that  he  bears 
a  charmed  life." 

"  Some  day  the  charm  will  be  broken  very  suddenly 
and  completely,"  said  Dorrian.  "  Chance  may  some- 
times seem  to  justify  fatalism,  but  not  for  long." 

Lysle  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  For  long  or  for 
short,"  he  said,  ''  how  does  it  matter  ? " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  in  which  he  saw 
Cecil  glance  at  him  again,  and  he  was  vexedly  con- 
scious that  his  words  and  tone  betrayed  the  underlying 
depression  of  his  disappointment.  He  made  a  quick 
effort  to  rally  himself. 

"  I  hear  that  since  we  parted  you  have  had  the 
world  at  your  feet,"  he  said  to  her.  "  I  know  the  un- 
satisfactoriness  of  human  experiences  too  well  to  ask 
if  it  was  all  that  you  fancied  ;  but  was  it  anything  of 
what  you  fancied  ? " 


"/lY  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEXy  201 

"  Are  tliere  not  some  exceptions  to  tlie  nnsatisfac- 
toriness  of  linman  experiences  ? "  slie  asked.  "  I  think 
tJiat  there  must  be.  The  world  has  not  been  at  my 
feet — very  far  from  it — but  it  has  been  kind  enough  to 
me  to  allow  me  to  say  that  my  dreams  have  been  real- 
ized in  a  fuller  sense  than  I  expected.  Every  pulse  of 
my  being  has  seemed  to  acquire  new  meaning,  to  pul- 
sate more  freely  in  the  great  world  to  which  you — I 
never  forget  it — opened  my  way." 

Her  voice  sank  a  little  over  the  last  words ;  he  had 
an  instinct  that  she  did  not  wish  Dorrian  to  hear  them. 
But  the  latter  had  turned  away  to  join  the  group  in  the 
loggia^  and  for  a  moment,  standing  under  one  of  the 
arches,  Lysle  was  alone  with  the  woman  he  had  come 
so  far  to  seek." 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  "  that  you  would  forget  the  small 
part  I  played  in  what  was  evidently  ordained  by  Fate. 
It  was  plainly  intended  to  be  a  very  small  part,  for  you 
see  I  have  not  been  permitted  even  to  witness  your 
success  and  your  enjoyment." 

"I  wished  for  you  very  often,"  she  said. 

"Did  you  ?  "  He  smiled  a  little.  "  That  was  kind 
— and  I  am  grateful.  But  I  am  a  fatalist  in  more 
respects  than  as  regards  the  bullet  or  the  spear  that 
may  end  life.  Other  things  seem  ordained  to  be,  or 
not  to  be,  by  an  imperious  necessity.  Evidently  your 
career  in  life  is  one  of  them — and  evidently  also  the 
insignificance  of  the  part  which  I  am  destined  to  play 
m  it.^ 

"  Your  part  in  my  life  can  never  be  insignificant," 
she  said,  quickly.  "  Whether  you  will  or  not,  I  must 
always  remember  that,  but  for  you,  I  should  not  have 


202  MISS  GEURCUILL:    A  STUDY, 

any  life.  Why  do  you  say  these  tilings,  Mr.  Lysle? 
TThy  are  you  so  much  changed  ? " 

"I !  "  he  started.  ''Does  it  seem  to  you  that  I  am 
changed  ?  Well,  perhaps  I  am.  It  is  difficult  to  be 
certain  about  one's  self.  Put  it  down,  then,  to  the  in- 
fluence of  Egyptian  politics,  which  are  really  enough 
to  demoralize  any  one.  And  now  tell  me  of  your  Lon- 
don season.  Of  the  famous  people  whom  you  met, 
how  many  seemed  to  you  to  deserve  their  fame  1 " 

"  Not  a  great  many,  certainly.  But  although  indi- 
viduals might  fall  short  of  what  imagination  had  con- 
ceived them  to  be,  society  as  a  whole — the  mingling  of 
many  minds  and  the  clash  of  many  wits — was  all  I  had 
fancied.  Enjoyment  is  too  poor  a  word  for  what  I  felt. 
I  think  that,  for  a  time  at  least,  I  was  intoxicated." 

"  The  marchesa  testified  that  you  bore  a  very  steady 
head." 

"  I  am  glad  if  it  seemed  so ;  but  in  reality  it  was 
anything  else.  The  marvelous  change  seemed  too  great 
for  me  to  realize.  When  I  thought  of  the  life  in  which 
you  found  me,  its  absolute  hopelessness  and  narrowness, 
and  when  I  saw  myself,  as  if  by  a  stroke  of  enchant- 
ment, moving  in  the  most  brilliant  life  that  the  world 
can  offer,  was  it  wonderful  that  I  was  like  a  creature 
in  a  dream  ?  Sometimes  I  seriously  asked  myself  if  I 
were  awake." 

"  I  suppose  the  doubt  has  been  settled  by  this  time." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  composedly,  "  I  feel  now  so 
familiar  with  the  new  existence,  that  I  think  before  long 
the  difficulty  will  be  in  realizing  the  old." 

He  did  not  reply.  As  he  looked  at  her — at  the 
beauty  which  had  first  shone  upon  him  in  its  poetic 


''I^  TWILIOET  OF  TEE  ILEXr  203 

simplicity  beneatli  the  Southern  pines,  and  which  now 
had  received  the  touch  of  highest  worldly  fashion ;  at 
the  eyes  filled  with  the  dreams  of  genius,  and  the  lips 
curved  with  the  scorn  of  commonplace — he  thought  of 
a  line  from  a  poem  once  very  familiar  to  him  : 

"...  She  seemed  to  tread 
Beyond  my  heart  to  the  world  made  for  her." 

Well,  if  it  were  true,  was  it  not  what  he  had  in  a 
manner  anticipated  and  foreseen  ?  Only,  who  can  ever 
anticipate  and  foresee  the  full  bitterness  of  some  reali- 
ties ? 


CHAPTEK  VIII. 

The  next  morning  dawned  beautiful  and  clear  over 
Yal  d'Arno.  Through  Ljsle's  windows  a  vision  of 
paradise  seemed  to  smile  on  him  as  he  waked  from 
brief  and  troubled  sleep — mountains  blue  as  celestial 
heights,  slopes  of  niistj  olive,  vine-covered  hills,  and 
near  at  hand  depths  of  glossy  foliage  with  fragrance  of 
blooming  roses.  The  fairness  of  the  scene  would  have 
touched  "him  like  a  benediction  had  he  been  happy  ;  as 
it  was,  it  only  suggested  that  change  of  place  which 
seems  to  offer  relief  in  pain.  He  rose,  and,  after  coffee 
had  been  served  to  him  in  the  pleasant  foreign  fash- 
ion, he  passed  out  into  the  beautiful  freshness  and 
stillness. 

He  found  very  soon  what  he  had,  perhaps,  uncon- 
sciously sought.  On  a  broad  terrace,  beneath  which 
the  vine-  and  olive-clad  hill-side  sloped  down  to  the 
plain  below,  a  figure  stood  leaning  against  the  balus- 
trade and  reading  a  letter.  As  he  approached,  it  turned 
with  a  slight  start,  and  Cecil  held  out  her  hand. 

"  The  morning  has  tempted  you  out  as  well  as  my- 
self," she  said.  "  Is  it  not  charming?  I  hope  you  are 
glad  to  be  again  in  Italy." 

It  was  a  moment  before  Lysle  could  remember 
whether  or  not  he  was  glad  to  be  in  Italy.     Then  he 


"Z/Y  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEXr  205 

smiled  -with  a  faint  tino;e  of  irony  for  himself.  "A 
month  ago,  a  week  ago,  I  longed  for  nothing  so  much 
as  this  scene,"  he  said.  "And  now — yes,  it  is  very 
charming;  but  it  is  an  old  story  with  me  that  the 
charm  is  not  so  great  as  I  fancied  it  would  be.  I  am 
glad  if  for  you  it  remains  undiminished." 

"More  than  undiminished — it  increases  with  time 
and  habit.  Mr.  Lysle — "  she  looked  at  him  with  the 
letter  she  had  been  reading  tightly  clas23ed  in  one  hand 
— "  I  think  it  would  kill  me  to  go  back  "iiow  to  the  life 
from  which  you  rescued  me !  " 

The  unexpectedness  of  the  remark  surprised  him. 
"  I  never  imagined  that  you.  would  go  back,"  he  said. 
"Why  should  you  think  of  it?" 

"  "Well,  for  one  reason,  because  this  is  a  letter  from 
my  brother,  urging  my  return.  Of  course  that  does 
not  signify.  He  does  not  understand ;  but  his  words 
make  me  realize  that  I  may  be  exoected  to  return 
some  day." 

Lysle  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  If  one  attempted  to 
fulfill  all  the  expectations  of  others,"  he  said,  "  I  need 
scarcely  point  out  to  you  that  life  would  become  an 
almost  impossible  affair.  If  Hugh  does  not  under- 
stand, he  must  be  made  to  understand  —  that  is  all. 
You  will  never  go  back.  I  have  known  that  from 
the  first." 

"  Did  you  know  it  when  you  proposed  the  change 
to  me  ? " 

"  Quite  as  well  as  I  know  it  now.     Who  goes  back 

into  prison  unless  forced  to  do  so  ?     And  I  was  certain 

you  would  not  be  forced." 

"  How  could  you  be  certain  ? " 
18 


206  MISS  CnURCEILL:    A  STUDY, 

"  I  liad  a  faitli  in  your  future  whicli  you  had  not 
then,  and  which  I  fear  you  have  not  now."  "^ 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly.  "  I  should  like  you  to 
tell  me,"  she  said,  ''  exactly  what  you  mean  by  a  faith 
in  my  future.  Then  1  can  tell  you  better  whether  or 
not  I  share  in  it." 

He  looked  toward  the  green  shades  of  the  garden 
spreading  behind  them.  "  Shall  we  not  be  more  secure 
from  interruption  there  ? "  he  asked. 

Assenting,  she  turned  and  they  walked  slowly  down 
the  dreamful  avenues,  saying  little  until  they  reached  a 
spot  musical  with  the  sound  of  water  falling  in  a  mar- 
ble basin,  green  with  the  shade  of  towering  laurel  and 
brilliant  with  the  bloom  of  oleanders.  Here  on  a  stone 
seat  Cecil  sat  down,  and,  after  an  instant's  hesitation, 
Lysle  placed  himself  beside  her.  Then,  looking  at  the 
letter  still  clasped  in  her  hand,  he  said  : 

"Do  you  remember  that  it  is  just  a  year  since  I  saw 
you  first  ? " 

She  glanced  up  at  him.  "  Is  it  possible  that  I  could 
forget  it  ? "  she  asked.  "  It  was  the  beginning  of  life 
for  me ! " 

Even  through  the  deeply  bronzed  surface  of  his 
skin  a  sudden  flush  showed  itself.  He  almost  said, 
"  And  for  me  also — "  but  checked  himself.  He  knew 
with  how  little  thought  of  him  her  words  had  been 
spoken,  and  he  would  not  turn  them  against  her.  In- 
stead, he  said,  after  a  pause,  ''  And  you  feel  now  that  the 
experiment  was  well  made,  the  venture  well  risked  ? " 

"  You  must  know,"  she  answered,  "  that  in  this  year 
alone,  of  all  the  years  of  my  life,  I  have  learned  what  it 
is  to  live.     But  the  result  is  just  what  Hugh  feared. 


''I]!f  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXr  207 

To  go  back  to  that  deatli-in-life  over  yonder — well,  that 
would  be  death  indeed  ! " 

"  But  why  think  of  it  ?  "  he  repeated  again. 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  minute  or  two,  but  sat 
looking  at  the  water  softly  plashing  in  the  fern-fringed 
basin  of  the  fountain.  "  I  think  of  it,"  she  said  at  last, 
"  because  one  likes  to  know  what  offers  as  an  alternative 
to  some  proposed  course  of  action.  There  is  certainly 
no  need  that  I  should  go  back.  All  that  I  have  en- 
joyed— all  that  I  desire — all  that  is  most  attractive  of 
the  gifts  of  the  world — is  offered  me.  I  have  only  to 
put  out  my  hand  and  make  it  my  own.  But,  in  doing 
so,  I  must  give  something  which  is  of  great  value  to 
me — " 

"  And  that — ? "  said  Lysle,  holding  his  breath. 

"  Is  my  liberty.  It  is  not  a  possession  w^hich  most 
women  value — if  one  may  judge  from  their  eagerness 
to  be  rid  of  it — but  I  have  always  valued  it  above 
everything  else  which  was,  or  might  possibly  be,  mine. 
Yet,  in  one  way  or  another,  I  must  resign  it  now." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  that,"  said  Lysle,  in  a  some- 
what constrained  voice.  "A  year  ago,  before  you  had 
spread  your  wings,  before  wider  knowledge  of  life  had 
enriched  your  experience  and  matured  your  powers,  I 
told  you  that  your  future  was  in  your  own  hand,  and 
I  tell  you  so  again." 

"  You  mean — % " 

"  I  mean  that  you  have  gifts  which  can  win  for  you 
assured  success  in  literature ;  and  such  success  in  these 
days  is  well  remunerated." 

She  laughed — a  slightly  mocking  laugh,  which  made 
him  glance  at  her  with  surprise.     Her  eyes  were  shin- 


208  Ji^ISS  CEURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

ins:  with  sometbins:  like  disdain  as  she  looked  at  him. 
"  I  have  told  you  very  often,"  she  said,  "  that  you  do 
not  know  me,  and  I  fear  I  must  tell  you  so  once  more. 
I  am  not  what  you  think  me,  Mr.  Lysle — a  true  artist 
with  an  artistic  soul.  Such  an  artist  would  ask  noth- 
ing better  than  to  win  the  success  of  which  you  speak, 
even  at  the  cost  of  prolonged  labor,  of  days  debarred 
from  enjoyment,  and  nights  of  solitary  toil.  But  1 
shrink  from  all  that.  I  am  far  more  of  an  epicurean 
than  you  have  ever  imagined.  I  want  to  possess  the 
world  and  enjoy  it — I  do  not  want  to  step  aside  from 
it  and  exhaust  myself  in  working  for  a  success  that 
would  be  valueless  to  me  when  it  came." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence ;  then,  "  You  force 
me  to  believe,  indeed,  that  I  have  never  known  you," 
Lysle  said,  slowly.  "  Yet  if  you  are  not  an  artist,  I  am 
deficient  in  all  penetration,  all  judgment  of  character 
and  power." 

''  Oh,  you  are  right  enough,"  she  said,  impatiently. 
"  I  am  an  artist  in  feeling,  and  an  artist  in  the  desire 
now  and  then  to  create.  But  I  am  not  an  artist  in  re- 
signing the  actual  for  the  ideal.  "W^hen  I  had  no  other 
world,  I  contented  myself  with  the  imagination ;  but 
now  that  another  world  is  before  me,  I  wish  to  live — I 
myself — not  through  the  medium  of  shadows,  but  in 
my  own  person.  I  feel  myself  passionately  alive,  pas- 
sionately in  love  with  the  beauty,  the  luxury,  the  mani- 
fold enjoyments  of  this  life  which  opens  to  me.  And 
you  think  that  I  could  willingly  turn  away  from  it,  and 
cease  to  have  any  personal  existence,  while  I  labored 
over  productions  that  might  or  might  not  bring  me 
fame  and  money ;  but  which  would  certainly  not  bring 


''i:^  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXP  209 

me  the  things  I  most  desire  !  O,  Mr.  Lysle,  liow  little 
you  know,  how  little  you  have  ever  known  me ! " 

"So  it  appears,"  said  Lysle,  as  she  paused,  while 
the  air  seemed  still  to  vibrate  with  the  passionate  tones 
of  her  voice.  '^  I  confess  that  I  did  not  think  the  world 
would  fascinate  you  in  exactly  the  way  it  seems  to  have 
done.  And  yet — "  he  was  silent  a  moment  and  looked 
away  from  her — ''  it  is  no  doubt  natural  enough.  Your 
youth  was  so  prisoned,  so  starved,  and  it  is  the  very  artis- 
tic quahties  of  your  nature  that  demand  the  fullness  of 
life  and  life's  enjoyments  now.  But  what  I  do  not 
understand  is  why  you  should  think  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  turn  away  from  this  enjoyment  in  order  to  pro- 
duce what  might  bring  you  independence.  The  mar- 
chesa — " 

"  Is  kindness  itself,"  she  interposed,  "  but  it  is  im- 
possible that  I  could  remain  with  her  if  I  decided  to 
make  literature  a  profession.  I  am  enough  of  an  artist 
to  know  that  one  can  not  play  at  what  should  be  the 
work  of  life  if  it  is  anything  at  all.  And  you  must  not 
think  that  it  is  because  this  year  has  not  been  ail  that  is 
successful  and  delightful  that  I  say  it  can  not  go  on. 
My  position  with  the  marchesa  is  too  indefinite.  She 
has  no  real  need  of  me,  and  I  can  not  be  satisfied  to 
accept  all  and  give  nothing.  So  it  is  necessary  that  I 
should  decide  upon  my  future.  To  return  to  Amer- 
ica— "  she  looked  down  at  the  letter  in  her  hand  and 
with  a  quick  gesture  tore  it  in  two — "  that  is  impossible. 
To  give  up  the  freedom,  the  beauty,  the  ease  of  life 
to  enter  upon  a  career  of  laborious  mental  toil — that  is 
more  than  I  can  think  of  so  long  as  an  alternative  is 
open  to  me.     And  such  an  alternative  is  open." 


210  MISS  CHUECEILL:   A  STUDY. 

"  More  than  one,  perhaps,"  said  Lvsle.  "  But  will 
vou  tell  me  what  is  that  to  which  tou  allude  ? " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  steady  light  in  her  ejes — 
a  light  that  did  not  waver  for  a  moment  under  the  gaze 
of  his. 

''I  have  the  alternative,''  she  said,  ''of  marrying 
]\Ir.  Dorrian." 


CHAPTEP.  IX. 

Aftee  that  announcement  there  was  a  minute's  si- 
lence before  either  spoke  again.  Then  Ljsle  said  very 
quietly : 

"  And  have  you  decided  to  marry  him  ? " 

"I  have  decided  nothing,"  she  answered,  "but  I 
think  that  I  shall  do  so." 

"May  I  ask  why?" 

"  Should  vou  not  rather  ask  whv  not  ?  There  seems 
every  reason  why  I  should  marry  him,  and  none  why  I 
should  not.  He  offers  me  everything  that  I  most  de- 
sire. 

"  Including  himself." 

"  Yes — including  himself.  And  if  that  is  not  of  an 
equal  value  with  the  rest,  it  only  proves,  does  it  not, 
that  I  am  a  creature  to  whom  Xature  f  oro^ot  to  en  ve  the 
power  of  feeling  as  other  women  feel  ? " 

"  I  do  not  consider  myself  competent  to  decide  ex- 
actly what  it  proves  ;  but  are  you  quite  sure  that  you 
have  not  the  power  of  feeling  as  other  women  feel  ? " 

"  Have  I  not  reason  to  be  sure  ?  I  am  twenty-six — 
and  my  life  holds  no  episode  of  passion  such  as  most 
lives  know." 

"  What  can  be  more  natural  ?  Must  I  always  inter- 
pret you  to  yourself?     It  seems  to  me  I  have  been 


212  MISS  CnURCniLL:    A  STUDY. 

doing  that  ever  since  we  first  met.  Your  life  has  known 
nothing  of  passion  because  you  have  been  cut  ofi'  from 
that  as  well  as  from  everything  else.  Fastidious,  im- 
aginative, sensitive — who  entered  into  that  old  life  who 
could  touch  your  fancy  or  move  your  heart  ?  But  is 
it  wise  to  argue  from  this  that  you  have  no  heart,  or 
that  it  will  never  be  moved  ?  Believe  me  the  hour  may 
be  late  in  striking,  but  it  will  strike  at  last." 

She  frowned  quickly.  "It  is  a  prophecy  which 
does  not  please  me.  I  do  not  wish  it  to  strike.  I  am 
— yes,  I  am  afraid  of  myself !  If  I  feel  other  things 
so  strongly,  how  should  I  feel  that  f  I  shrink  from  it 
— I  want  none  of  it — I  am  glad  that  this  man  does  not 
ask  or  expect  it ! " 

"Are  you  sure  that  he  does  not?  I  can  not  imag- 
ine any  man  with  a  drop  of  blood  in  his  veins,  with  a 
spark  of  fire  in  his  heart,  not  asking,  not  expecting  that 
the  woman  who  marries  him  shall  also  love  him." 

She  flushed  deeply.  Under  the  energy  of  his  tone 
she  dimly  felt  a  vibration  of  contempt  which  stung  her 
to  the  quick.  She  rose,  making  an  unconsciously 
haughty  gesture. 

"It  is  a  subject  which  we  need  not  discuss,"  she 
said.  "I  hardly  know  why  we  are  discussing  it. 
What  I  feel  or  do  not  feel  for  Mr.  Dorrian  concerns 
only  myself — and  him." 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that,"  said  Lysle.  He, 
too,  rose  and  stood  facing  her — looking  very  pale,  but 
quite  calm.  "What  you  feel  or  do  not  feel  for  Mr. 
Dorrian  certainly  concerns  only  yourself — and  him. 
But  what  concerns  me  is  the  fact  that  since  I  am  di- 
rectly accountable  for  the  change  that  has  taken  place 


"ZiY  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  ILEXy  213 

in  your  life,  for  the  circumstances  in  wLicli  you  find 
yourself,  I  can  not  stand  by  indifferently  and  see  you 
throw  away  your  happiness.  You  have  often  charged 
me  with  not  knowing  you,  but  I  know  you  better  than 
you  know  yourself,  if  you  believe  that  you  will  not 
throw  it  away  in  such  a  marriage  as  this  of  which  you 
think." 

"  Why  should  I  throw  it  away,"  she  asked,  almost 
defiantly,  "  when  I  tell  you  that  it  will  give  me  the 
things  which  I  most  desire,  the  things  for  which  I  have 
longed  all  my  life  ? " 

"  It  will  give  you  command  of  wealth,  it  will  sur- 
round you  with  beauty,  it  will  open  to  you  all  doors  of 
enjoyment — I  grant  that.  But  it  will  starve  your  heart, 
and  beside  your  heart  it  will  stifle  every  noble  aspira- 
tion in  your  mind.  Do  you  imagine  that  I  do  not 
know  of  what  I  speak,  that  I  have  not  fully  gauged 
the  selfish  epicureanism  of  the  man  who  tempts  you 
with  his  culture  and  his  wealth  ?  I  do  not  say  these 
things  because  I  am  jealous  of  him." 

She  started.     "  Jealous  ! "  she  repeated,  involunta- 

He  smiled  shghtly  —  a  smile  without  any  mirth. 
"  Surely  you  do  not  need  for  me  to  tell  you  that  one 
must  be  jealous  of  the  man  who  steps  in  and  bears  off 
before  one's  eyes  the  prize  on  which  one's  own  heart 
was  set.  Tou  knew  long  ago  that  I  loved  you.  It  is 
late  to  speak  of  that." 

She  turned  pale  as  she  looked  at  him.  "ISTo,"  she 
said,  quickly.  "  No — I  did  not  know  it."  There  seemed 
something  of  positive  violence  in  the  denial. 

"  You  may  not  have  known  it  as  one  knows  a  cer- 


214:  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

tainty,"  lie  answered,  "  but  you  felt  it  as  one  feels  that 
wliicli  is  more  than  a  certainty.  "Why  do  I  speak  of  it 
now  ?  AVell,  for  one  thing,  that  you  may  understand 
why  I  have  kept  silence  so  long.  I  was  tempted  to 
break  that  silence  more  than  once  before  you  left  Amer- 
ica ;  and,  if  you  had  refused  to  come  here,  I  should 
have  broken  it.  But  you  did  not  refuse,  you  agreed 
to  come,  and  I  said  to  myself  that  I  would  not  attempt 
to  place  the  slightest  fetter  upon  you.  I  wanted  you 
to  be  perfectly  free,  I  w^anted  your  nature  to  expand, 
your  powers  to  develop,  I  wanted  to  see  what  you 
would  become  in  the  new  life  that  opened  before 
you— '' 

''  In  short,  to  perfect  your  study,"  she  said.  "  I 
understand  that,  Mr.  Lysle.  Forgive  me  if  I  say  that 
the  rest  I  do  not  understand." 

*'  You  mean  that  you  do  not  believe  it  ? " 

"  I  mean  that  I  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  a  man 
who  really  felt  what  you  imply  that  you  did  feel,  could 
have  kept  silence  as  you  kept  it." 

"  In  other  words,  you  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  a 
man  might  think  of  another  more  than  of  himself. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  possible.  I  desired  so  ardently  that 
you  should  at  least  reach  your  full  development,  and  I 
believed  so  thoroughly  that  such  development  was  only 
possible  in  freedom,  that  I  put  myself  and  my  own 
wishes  aside.  Your  doubt,"  he  added,  "  is  much  such 
a  reward  as  one  may  usually  expect  in  this  satisfactory 
world  for  disinterested  actions." 

A  rising  flush  showed  through  the  clear  pallor  of 
her  skin. 

"  You  see,"  she  answered,  "  that  the  effect  of  the 


"/JV  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEX:'  215 

world  is  visible  in  more  ways  than  one.  All  that  I  can 
saj,  Mr.  Ljsle,  is  that  I  am  sorry — deeply  sorry — if  you 
have  based  any  hopes  on  me.  I  am  not  a  person  likely 
to  fulfill  such  hopes.  I  am  cold-hearted,  I  am  capri- 
cious, I  am  in  love  with  the  world  and  all  that  it 
offers — " 

Lysle  interposed.  *'  Pray  spare  yourself,"  he  said, 
"  the  enumeration  of  any  more  bad  qualities.  Frankly, 
I  have  the  presumption  to  think  that  I  understand 
you  better  than  you  understand  yourself.  You  are  try- 
ing to  believe  that  you  can  live  on  a  lower  plane  than 
is  possible  to  you.  If  you  attempt  it,  the  result  will 
be  disastrous — it  will  be  the  prison  over  again.  Only, 
in  this  case,  you  will  find  the  higher  powers  of  your 
mind,  the  aspirations  of  your  soul,  fettered.  You  will 
sell  your  birthright — the  birthright  of  genius — for  a 
mess  of  worldly  potage,  which  you  will  end  by  abhor- 
ring," 

It  seemed  to  him  that  as  she  listened  she  grew  pale 
as  the  marble  nymph  of  the  fountain  by  which  they 
stood.  But  this  was  her  only  sign  of  emotion.  She 
put  out  her  hand  and  broke  off  a  spray  of  oleander  as 
she  said,  quietly : 

'^  And  what  is  it  that  you  advise  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  advise  you,"  he  answered,  "  to  retain  the  free- 
dom which  up  to  this  time,  you  have  valued  so  highly. 
And,  believe  me,  I  have  no  thought  of  myself  in  say- 
ing this.  I  recognize  the  fact  that  there  is  no  hope 
for  me.  But  I  do  not  wish  you  to  close  the  door  of 
hope  on  yourself." 

She  was  silent  for  a  long  minute,  stripping  off  the 
petals  of  the  blossoms  one  by  one  with  her  fingers,  and 


216  MISS  CEUECHILL:    A  STUDY. 

dropping  tliem  into  the  water  at  lier  feet.  At  length 
she  said,  slowly  : 

"•  Whether  you  believe  it  or  not,  your  advice  is 
based  upon  imperfect  knowledge.  What  is  artistic  in 
my  nature  demands  for  its  satisfaction  the  very  condi- 
tions of  life  which  are  offered  me.  The  past  year  has 
taught  me  that,  if  it  has  taught  me  nothing  else.  And 
as  for  living  on  a  lower  plane — there  you  are  mistaken 
again.  I  am  weary  of  aspirations  that  lead  to  nothing 
but  disappointment.  I  want  to  forget  them  and  the 
labor  and  stress  that  accompany  them.  Culture,  luxury, 
beauty,  in  their  highest  expression,  are  offered  me ;  and 
— think  what  you  will  of  me,  Mr.  Lysle  ! — I  shall  take 
them." 

He  bent  his  head,  as  if  accepting  her  decision.  At 
that  moment  it  was  the  irony  of  the  situation  which 
struck  him  more  forcibly  than  anytliing  else.  He 
thought  of  all  his  hopes  and  plans  for  this  final  mo- 
ment ;  of  the  last  evening  which  they  had  spent  in  the 
pine-lands  together,  when  he  had  felt  that,  if  he  held 
out  his  hand,  what  he  desired  might  be  placed  in  it ;  of 
his  resolute  determination  to  leave  her  free,  and  of  the 
earnest  warning:  of  her  brother.  It  was  an  old  story — 
the  story  of  his  life — that  the  supreme  moment  of  frui- 
tion should  bring  only  disappointment.  He  accepted 
it  again,  as  he  had  accepted  it  before,  though  it  seemed 
to  him  now  filled  with  the  bitterness  of  death.  It  was 
the  work  of  his  own  hand ;  he  recognized  that,  and 
recognizing,  uttered  no  complaint. 

"  So  be  it,"  he  said.  "  I  have  fulfilled  my  duty  in 
warning  you,  and  I  have  no  right  to  utter  another 
word.     The  end  is  not  that  of  which  I  dreamed — I 


''m  TWILIGHT  OF  TEE  ILEXr  217 

mean  for  you.  Of  myself  I  say  nothing.  No  doubt 
you  are  right  enough  in  holding  that  a  man  who  makes 
no  effort  to  secure  what  he  desires  is  not  even  worthy 
of  belief.  Only  try  to  believe  that  I  thought  solely  of 
you — of  you  first,  last,  altogether.  And  I  think  of  you 
now  in  saying  that  I  hope  I  may  prove  a  false  prophet, 
and  that  you  may  never  regret  the  step  you  are  deter- 
mined to  take." 

Then  he  turned  away  and  left  her  standing  by  the 
old  fountain,  amid  the  rosy  fire  of  the  oleanders,  under 
the  shade  of  the  ilex. 

19 


BOOK  III. 

THE   SHADOW   OF  THE  PALMS 


CHAPTER  I. 

Moonlight  was  lying — white,  lustrous,  magical — ■ 
over  the  waters  and  domes  of  Yenice,  as  Miss  Church- 
ill, sitting  on  the  balcony  of  an  apartment  on  the  Grand 
Canal,  looked  with  dreamy  eyes  out  over  the  beauty  of 
the  scene.  For,  if  enchantment  remains  in  any  spot  of 
earth,  it  is  surely  in  Yenice  when  the  moon  shines  upon 
her.  Siren  of  the  sea,  as  she  is  at  all  times,  she  re- 
claims at  this  time  all  of  her  old  beauty,  her  old  maj- 
esty, and  lays  a  spell  upon  the  senses  which  few  are  too 
cold  or  too  indifferent  to  acknowledge. 

It  was  all  around  Cecil  at  this  moment.  The  verv 
air  seemed  full  of  the  suggestion  of  passion  and  ro- 
mance, of  the  poetry  of  splendid  memories  and  heroic 
deeds.  She  looked  across  the  shining  water  at  the  soft 
mass  of  San  Giorgio.  Her  glance  rested  on  the  picture 
which  it  formed  with  a  sense  of  satisfying  delight,  and 
then  passing  farther — sweeping  the  distance  where  the 
canal  widens  into  the  broad  lagoon  —  paused  at  the 
vision  of  a  stately  ship  riding  at  anchor,  her  outlines 
clearly  defiiied  yet  spiiitualized  in  the  fairy  radiance. 


THE  SHiDOW  OF  TEE  PALMS.  219 

"While  lier  gaze  still  dwelt  on  this,  tlie  draperies  of 
an  open  window  behind  her  were  pushed  aside  and  a 
lady  stepped  out  upon  the  balcony.  With  a  soft  rustle 
of  silk  and  waft  of  perfume,  she  sank  on  the  cushioned 
seat.  The  moonlight,  touching  her  jewels  and  her  eyes 
as  she  glanced  upward,  revealed  the  marchesa. 

"Ah,  what  a  night!"  she  said.  "And  what  a 
scene !  Yen  ice  may  be  a  discrowned  queen  while  the 
sun  shines,  but  when  the  moon  rises  all  her  old  glory 
is  hers  again.  I  never  grow  weary  of  lingering  here — 
yet  to-morrow  we  must  go." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Cecil,  in  a  tone  as  dreamy  as 
her  eyes.  "  Venice  is  enchanting,  but  I  want  to  see 
all  the  world  ;  nothing  less  will  content  me.  And  then, 
we  are  going  to  Greece  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  remember  that  it  will  not  be  the  Greece 
of  your  dreams." 

"  j!S"o  matter  ;  it  is  the  Greece  which  has  nourished 
the  dreams  of  all  the  earth,  the  very  fatherland  of  gen- 
ius. But,  as  I  have  been  sitting  here  looking  at  the 
ship  on  w^hich  we  will  sail  to-morrow,  another  desire 
has  taken  possession  of  me.  Thinking  of  her  final  des- 
tination, I  long  to  go  there — can  we  not  go  ? " 

"  To  Alexandria,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  To  Alexandria,  to  Egypt,  to  the  East.  It  seems  so 
near,  and  the  mere  thought  of  it  has  always  drawn  me 
with  a  fascination  which  I  can  not  express.  Ah,  if  we 
might  only  go  !  " 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not,"  said  the 
marchesa,  musingly.  "  After  I  have  visited  my  estates 
in  Corfu,  nothing  is  more  simple  ;  only,  I  fear  Egypt  is 
not  very  attractive,  and  perhaps  not  very  safe  just  now." 


220  ^I'SS  CHUECHILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  Can  Eg}'pt  ever  be  otlier  than  attractive  —  and 
more  so  if  it  does  not  swarm  witli  Europeans?  While 
for  safety — it  is  surely  safe  so  long  as  English  troops 
ai'e  there." 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so.  And  we  would  not  wish  to  go 
fai'ther  than  Cairo." 

"  Speaking  for  myself,  I  would  wish  to  go  as  far  as 
possible  ;  but  I  should  recognize  the  limits  of  possi- 
bility. Dear  marchesa " — she  touched  caressingly  a 
white  hand  that  lay  beside  her  on  the  balustrade — 
*'  how  glad  I  shall  be  to  owe  the  gratification  of  my 
wish  to  your  kindness !  I  would  rather  owe  it  to  you 
than  to  any  one  else  in  the  world." 

The  marchesa  glanced  quickly  into  her  face.  "  Sure- 
ly," she  said,  "  there  is  one  person  in  the  world  to  whom 
you  would  prefer  to  owe  the  gratification  of  your 
wishes  1 " 

Cecil  turned  away  again  and  looked  out  over  the 
wide,  silver  scene.  "  JS"o,"  she  said,  quietly,  after  a  mo- 
ment, "there  is  no  one.  I  speak  of  the  present,  you 
understand.     The  future  is,  happily,  the  future  still." 

"  But  it  will  become  the  present,  in  time." 

"  Impossible  to  deny.  But  meanwhile  it  has  not 
become  the  present.  This  is  the  present,  and  yonder 
lies  the  ship  that  will  bear  us  to  Greece  and  to  Egypt." 

"If  we  are  going  to  Egypt,"  said  the  marchesa, 
after  a  pause,  "  I  must  find  out  where  Bernard  Lysle 
is.     He  may  be  there." 

She  did  not  look  toward  Cecil  as  she  spoke,  but  felt 
her  start  slightly  at  that  unexpected  name.  Then  in  a 
tone  the  alteration  of  which  it  was  beyond  her  power 
to  control.  Miss  Churchill  said :  "  Surely  Mr.  Lysle  is 


TEE  SHADOW  OF  TEE  FALMS.  221 

not  there  now.  I  thought — I  fancied — that  he  was  in 
England." 

"  It  is  not  probable  that  he  would  remain  in  Eng- 
land long.  The  passion  for  adventure  has  become  sec- 
ond nature  with  him.  Besides,  every  one  knows  that 
only  the  first  act  of  the  drama  has  been  played  in  Egypt. 
Matters  are  in  a  very  critical  state.  That  being  so, 
Bernard  is  likely  to  be  there." 

"  I  did  not  think  of  that,"  said  Cecil,  as  if  speaking 
to  herself. 

"  Does  it  alter  yonr  desire  ?  " 

"  JSTo,"  she  answered  slowly,  "  why  should  it  ?  Why 
should  I  shrink  from  seeing  Mr.  Lysle?  It  may  be 
that  he  shrinks  from  rae ;  but,  if  he  does  not,  I  should 
like  to  see  him,  to  talk  to  him  once  more.  I  have  never 
felt  as  if  I  could  talk  to  any  one  so  freely  as  to  him." 

"  Who  else  has  such  sympathy  ?  It  is  that  which 
is  his  greatest  charm." 

"  Yes."  The  word  was  breathed  out  with  a  soft 
intonation  on  the  night  air ;  after  which  there  was  si- 
lence again  for  several  minutes. 

"  And  he  has  the  power  to  forget  himself,"  said  the 
marchesa,  presently,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  continues 
unspoken  thought  aloud.  "  That  is  very  rare.  Most 
men — even  the  best  of  men— are  selfish.  He  is  not 
selfish.  Indeed,  I  have  blamed  him  sometimes  for  be- 
ing quixotic  in  unselfishness — yet,  while  I  blamed,  I 
loved  him  for  it." 

Cecil  drew  a  qnick  breath.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  Lysle's  name  had  been  mentioned,  save  in  the 
briefest  manner,  between  them  since  he  left  the  Yilla 
Ferrata  five  months  before. 


222  ^J'SS  CnUECHILL:    A  STUDY, 

"Is  not  etrengtli  always  eelfisli?"  she  asked,  in  a 
meditative  tone.  ^'  If  a  man  desires  a  thing  strongly, 
does  he  not  instinctively  put  out  his  hand  to  grasp  it 
without  thinking  much  of  others  ?  " 

"  Generally  speaking — yes.  As  I  have  said,  most 
men  are  selfish.  But  you  are  not  so  deficient  in  appre- 
ciation as  to  believe  that  the  strength  which  grasps  with- 
out thought  of  others  is  not  a  poor  and  weak  thing 
compared  to  the  strength  which  controls  desire  through 
thought  of  others." 

"  I  have  sufficient  appreciation  to  see  what  you  mean 
and  to  acknowledge  its  truth — if  it  were  possible.  But 
I  doubt  the  possibility.  Strong  desire  in  its  very  na- 
ture is  selfish." 

"But  outside  the  desire  there  may  be  a  higher 
strength  to  hold  it  in  control.  This  is  rare — as  all 
noble  things  are  rare — but  it  can  exist.  And  it  exists 
in  Bernard  Lysle.  You  have  done  him  great  injustice 
if  you  fail  to  believe  it." 

Again  brief  silence,  and  then  Cecil  said :  "  I  am  the 
last  person  in  the  world  who  should  do  Mr.  Lysle  injus- 
tice. My  debt  to  him  is  measureless — a  debt  to  which 
his  generosity  and  his  delicacy  have  added  tenfold.  It 
is  a  constant  grief  to  me  that  I  have  returned  his  good- 
ness by  causing  him  pain,  and  that  we  are  so  alienated. 
To  re-establish  friendly  relations  between  us  I  would 
do  anything  ;  and  if  you  think  he  is  in  Egypt — 
well,  that  is  only  another  reason  for  desiring  to  go 
there." 

"Another  reason  for  you,^''  said  the  marchesa,  "but 
I  must  think  of  Bernard  also.  What  if  he  shrinks 
from  seeing  you  ? " 


TEE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  223 

Cecil  seemed  to  shrink  herself  at  the  suggestion. 
"  Do  jou  think  that  probable  ? "  she  asked.  ''  If  it 
were  so,  he  should  not  be  pained  by  seeing  me.  But 
if  we  might  be  friends  again,  I  should  be  very  glad.  I 
have  missed  him  very  much." 

"  Have  you  ? "  said  the  marchesa.  Perhaps  it  was 
not  her  fault  that  there  was  a  shade  of  incredulity  in 
her  tone. 

"  You  think  that  doubtful,"  said  Cecil,  understand- 
ing the  significance  of  the  inflection.  "  Ah,  you  do  not 
know !  I  have  seemed  to  throw  myself  into  everything 
that  life  offered,  without  a  care  or  thought  beyond — 
but,  of  late  at  least,  it  has  been  a  struggle  to  keep  at 
bay  an  old  enemy,  the  terrible  consciousness  that  a 
thing  is  hardly  gained  before  it  is  exhausted ;  that  as 
soon  as  what  one  desires  is  given  into  one's  hand,  its 
power  to  satisfy  is  gone.  Mr.  Lysle  would  understand 
that.     I  told  him  of  it  long  ago." 

'^  And  what  did  he  say  ? " 

Cecil  caught  her  breath  as  if  at  an  unwelcome  mem- 
ory. At  that  moment  she  saw  before  her  not  the  silver 
waters,  the  palaces  and  domes  of  Venice,  but  a  solemn 
expanse  of  pine-lands,  and  she  heard  Lysle's  voice  utter- 
ing certain  well-remembered  words.  But  they  were 
words  she  had  no  desire  to  repeat.  She  felt  as  if  utter- 
ance would  make  their  memory  more  insistent. 

*'Mr.  Lysle  always  thought  better  of  me  than  I 
deserved — until  I  proved  to  him  that  I  was  right  and 
he  was  wrong,"  she  answered,  with  a  faint  trace  of 
bitterness.  "Of  two  paths  I  chose  the  lower,  w^hile 
he  thought  I  should  have  chosen  the  higher.  And 
now — " 


224:  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  Now  do  jou  regret  the  choice  ? "  asked  the  mar- 
chesa,  as  she  paused. 

*'  Why  should  I  regret  it  ? "  was  the  quick  reply. 
"  Would  the  other  be  likely  to  be  more  satisfying  ? 
Should  I  not  then  regret —  But  what  folly  I  am  talk- 
ing !  The  night  has  surely  infected  me  with  melan- 
choly. I  am  glad  that  yonder  lies  our  ship,  that  we 
are  going  to  sail  away — to  Greece — to  Egypt — " 

"I  must  take  a  little  time  to  think  of  that,"  said 
the  marchesa.  "  And  here  come  our  friends  to  bid  us 
good-by." 

A  gondola,  as  she  spoke,  drew  up  at  the  marble 
steps  over  which  the  green  sea-water  was  gently  plash- 
ing, and  two  ladies,  followed  by  a  gentleman,  disem- 
barked. They  looked  up  with  soft  Italian  words  and 
waving  hands  to  the  balcony,  where  the  marchesa  bent 
forward  in  the  moonlight.  They  were  old  friends  who 
had  come  to  bid  her  adieu. 

But  neither  they,  nor  others  who  followed,  banished 
from  her  mind  the  conversation  with  Cecil ;  and  two 
or  three  hours  later  a  letter  to  Lysle  lay  before  her  on 
her  writing-table.  She  had  spoken  truly  in  saying 
that  she  did  not  know  his  whereabout,  but  she  knew 
an  address  in  London  whence  a  letter  would  be  for- 
warded to  him  wherever  he  might  be.  So  she  wrote, 
stating  Cecil's  wish  to  extend  their  journey  from  Greece 
to  Egypt,  and  asking  (if  he  were  in  the  latter  place) 
whether  it  would  be  painful  for  him  to  see  them. 
"  Be  frank  with  me,"  she  said,  in  conclusion.  "  This 
is  a  mere  fancy  which  it  will  cost  her  nothing  to  deny. 
She  has  all  her  life  before  her  in  which  to  indulge  any 
fancies  that  she  likes.     I  will  not  suffer  this  one  to  bo 


TEE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS,  225 

indulged  at  the  cost  of  any  pain  to  yon.  Tliink  of 
yourself,  for  once,  my  dear  Bernard,  and  tell  me  the 
truth." 

She  sent  the  letter  to  be  mailed  as  soon  as  written, 
for  they  were  going  on  board  the  Austrian  Lloyd  ship 
at  midnight. 


CHAPTER  11. 

Lysle  was  in  Cairo  wlien  he  received  the  marchesa's 
letter,  for  she  was  right  in  supposing  that  he  would  not 
remain  long  awaj  from  that  center  of  intrigue  and 
action.  He  had  indeed  been  so  much  identified  with 
Oriental  affairs,  had  acquired  so  much  knowledge  of, 
so  much  interest  and  influence  in,  them,  tliat  he  was 
not  likely  to  be  allowed  to  remain  away,  even  had  he 
desired  to  do  so.  And  he  did  not  desire  it.  Whether 
action  is  any  true  panacea  for  a  wounded  heart  must 
remain  an  open  question,  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
it  is  the  panacea  which  is  most  eagerly  sought  by  those 
who  are  suflPering  in  that  manner.  Lysle  was  no  excep- 
tion to  the  rule.  "With  a  fierce  impatience  he  hurried 
from  Europe  back  to  the  troubled  East.  Movement, 
adventure,  danger — these  were  the  things  for  which  he 
longed,  as  many  a  man  suffering  from  the  sting  of  pain 
and  disappointment  has  longed  for  them  before.  And 
they  were  within  his  reach,  as  they  are  not  within  the 
reach  of  eveiy  one.  It  was  easy  enough  to  find  distrac- 
tion and  danger  in  Egypt  at  that  date.  Since  the  over- 
throw of  Arabi,  the  figure  of  the  Mahdi  had  loomed 
into  threatening  prominence,  like  a  colossal  impersona- 
tion of  the  forces  of  the  Great  Desert,  of  the  wild  and 
savage  tribes  which  were  rallying  to  his  banner.     After 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.     .         227 

the  fall  of  El-Obeid,  in  the  winter  of  18S2-'83,  the 
Egyptian  Government  recognized  the  necessity  of  either 
crushing  the  revolt  or  abandoning  the  Soudan,  and  the 
ill-fated  Colonel  Hicks  was  appointed  to  the  command  of 
the  expedition  sent  out  to  accomplish  the  first  purpose. 

Lysle's  arrangements  to  accompany  this  expedition 
were  made  when  he  received  the  marchesa's  letter. 
After  reading  it,  he  hesitated  a  little — not  with  regard 
to  his  final  movements,  but  with  regard  to  the  question 
whether  or  not  he  should  embrace  the  opportunity  thus 
offered  to  see  Cecil  again  before  going  into  danger  from 
which  he  knew  well  that  he  might  never  return.  It 
was  a  great  temptation — and  he  decided  that  there  was 
no  reason  why  he  might  not  yield  to  it.  "I  can  harm 
only  myself,"  he  thought,  "  and  that  does  not  matter  at 
all.  The  worst  is  done  for  me.  I  can  court  no  greater 
pain,  but  perhaps — who  knows  ? — there  might  be  a  less- 
ening of  it  if  I  find  her  changed,  as  changed  she  as- 
suredly must  be  after  five  months'  association  with  Dor- 
rian.  I  should  like  to  see  her  again;  I  should  like  to 
satisfy  myself  that  she  is  happy — and  then  I  can  go 
into  the  desert  with  a  light  heart." 

The  consequence  of  this  decision  was,  that  a  week 
or  two  later,  when  the  great  Austrian  Lloyd  ship  Sa- 
tumo  entered  the  harbor  of  Alexandria,  there  were 
two  ladies  on  board  who  attracted  much  attention  from 
the  distinction  of  their  appearance  and  the  luxury  with 
which  they  were  surrounded.  As  they  stood  on  deck, 
watching  the  land  they  were  approaching,  one  of  them 
?i  least  felt  as  if  all  the  dreams  of  fancy  were  awaiting 
her  on  that  low,  yellow  shore,  with  its  luminous  sky  and 
groups  of  palms,  its  ancient  civilization  and  the  mys- 


228  MISS  CEURCniLL:   A  STUDY. 

terious  depths  of  its  Dark  Continent.  Her  mind  went 
swiftly  back  to  the  many  pictures  which  Lysle's  words 
had  painted  of  this  ancient  land.  All  that  lay  before 
her  eyes  was  so  associated  with  his  image,  that  it  was 
with  scarcely  a  sense  of  surprise  that  she  suddenly  per- 
ceived his  face  in  one  of  the  boats  rapidly  darting  over 
the  water  toward  the  ship.  She  turned  quickly  toward 
the  marchesa.  ''  Yonder  is  Mr.  Lysle  ! "  she  said. 
''  Did  you  expect  him  ? " 

That  lady  smiled.  *'  IS'o,"  she  answered.  *'  I  had 
no  reason  to  expect  him,  but  it  is  like  him  to  be  here. 
He  has  come  from  Cairo  to  meet  us." 

This  was  indeed  the  case.  Lysle  had  come  from 
Cairo  to  meet  them ;  and  his  coming  relieved  them  at 
once  of  all  trouble.  With  the  marchesa,  of  course,  his 
friendly  intimacy  had  never  been  impaired,  but  Cecil, 
who  had  anticipated  some  awkwardness  in  meeting  him, 
was  surprised  to  find  how  entirely  unchanged  he  was 
toward  herself,  how  frank  in  greeting,  how  ready  for 
any  service.  There  was  no  change  in  him  whatever, 
so  she  decided ;  it  had  been  all  a  dream,  a  fancy,  that 
last  interview,  and  he  was  again  what  she  had  always 
believed  him,  the  quiet  philosophical  observer  of  life, 
with  little  personal  emotion  to  disturb  his  tranquillity. 

There  was  nothing  to  alter  this  impression  during 
their  journey  to  Cairo,  or  during  the  first  few  days 
which  they  spent  in  that  city — days  in  which  Lysle 
seemed  to  have  no  other  duties  than  those  of  cicerone  ^' 
and  all  that  was  left  of  Oriental  beauty  in  Parisianized 
Cairo  was  unfolded  to  Cecil's  eyes.  They  were  pleas- 
ant days  to  both — one  of  those  islands  in  life  when 
people  look  neither  forward  nor  back,  but  only  enjoy 


TEE  SEADOW  OF  TEE  PALMS.  229 

tLe  passing  hour.  From  Cecil  the  weariness  and  dis- 
satisfaction which  had  of  late  grown  constantly  heavier, 
seemed  to  drop  away ;  whether  the  charm  was  in  the 
freshness  of  her  surroundings  or  in  the  society  of  Lysle, 
she  did  not  ask  herself.  It  was  enough  that  for  a  little 
while  she  could  again  enjoy  with  that  sense  of  pleasure 
which  she  had  thought  lost  forever. 

And  it  was  strange  to  Lysle  himseK  how  entirely 
they  took  up  the  thread  of  their  old  intimacy.  If  Cecil 
turned  to  him  with  confidence  and  relief — the  relief  of 
meeting  thorough  comprehension  and  sympathy — on 
his  side  the  old  charm  of  reading,  understanding,  and 
influencing  this  nature,  so  difficult  for  others  to  under- 
stand or  to  influence,  was  as  strongly  felt  as  ever.  It 
did  not  take  him  lono^  to  discover  that  thino-s  had  not 
gone  altogether  well  with  her  since  their  last  paiidng, 
though  he  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  give  a  defi- 
nite reason  for  the  belief.  It  was  an  instinct  of  intui- 
tive sympathy — an  instinct  such  as  had  told  him  so 
much  with  regard  to  her,  ever  since  he  saw  her  first 
under  the  pines.  The  story  which  her  eyes  revealed 
to  him  then,  they  repeated  now — the  story  of  unsatis- 
fied longing  and  vain  aspiration.  He  felt  no  sense  of 
surprise  ;  he  said  to  himself  that  he  had  kno^vn  it  must 
be  so.  She  had  exhausted  the  world  into  which  she 
had  thrown  herself  for  a  time  with  a  sense  of  passion- 
ate delight,  and  the  homage  of  a  dilettante  egoist  had 
proved  no  more  satisfying  than  the  pleasures  which  had 
palled,  and  the  culture  which  had  become  a  thing  of 
course.  All  of  this  he  knew  without  words — but  the 
word  came  at  length. 

It  was  one  evening  when  they  had  gone  up  to  the 
20 


230  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

citadel.  Wliile  the  marchesa  lingered  with  some  friends 
iu  the  beautiful  court  of  the  mosque,  Lysle  and  Cecil 
passed  on  to  the  parapet  for  that  view  which  is  one  of 
the  grandest  in  the  world.  It  was  just  at  the  sunset 
hour.  Cairo,  with  its  countless  domes  and  fantastic 
minarets  glittering  in  the  level  light,  lay  below ;  east- 
ward the  long  range  of  the  tombs  of  the  sultans 
stretched  away  into  the  desert  toward  Suez,  their  ex- 
quisite Saracenic  architecture  rising  from  the  waves  of 
sand  which  will  ]3resently  bury  them.  In  that  secluded 
valley  twilight  seemed  already  falling  as  it  had  fallen 
over  their  dynasty  and  their  history ;  but  westward  the 
scene  was  full  of  glory.  On  the  broad  breast  of  the 
ancient,  sacred  river,  splendid  reflections  of  color  shone 
— color  which  deepened  into  a  sea  of  gold  near  the 
horizon.  Against  this  glow  the  mighty,  solemn  forms 
of  the  great  pyramids  stood,  on  the  verge  of  the  Libyan 
desert,  overlooking  the  verdant  valley  of  the  Nile  and 
the  site  of  vanished  Memphis.  On  that  shining  current 
all  the  ages  seemed  moving  in  long  procession  ;  and  to 
glance  from  the  vast,  majestic  forms  of  the  pyramids 
to  the  fire-tipped  lances  of  the  Arabian  minarets  of 
Cairo,  was  to  cover  in  a  moment  the  centuries  and  the 
dynasties  from  Sesostris  to  Saladin. 

"  It  is  like  the  realization  of  one  of  my  old  hoj)eless 
dreams,"  said  Cecil  to  Lysle.  She  was  leaning  in  an 
angle  of  the  parapet,  while  her  gaze  swept  the  wide, 
varied  scene.  "  I  find  it  difiicult  to  believe  that  it  is 
true — that  I  am  really  here  in  body  as  well  as  in  spirit ! 
To  go  to  the  East,  to  look  with  my  own  eyes  on  scenes 
and  customs  that  would  carry  one  back  to  the  earliest 
youth  of  the  world,  to  behold  a  life  which  has  not 


TEE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  231 

altered  for  ages — Low  I  longed  for  this  when  you  used 
to  talk  of  all  that  jou  had  seen  and  known ! " 

"I  remember  the  manner  in  which  you  listened 
while  I  talked — good  heavens,  how  I  talked ! — when  we 
met  first,"  said  Lysle.  "Xow  you  are  here — and  I  am 
with  you.     I  hope  you  will  let  me  be  glad  of  that." 

She  gave  him  a  quick  glance  out  of  her  sunset-daz- 
zled eyes. 

"  I  should  miss  half  the  pleasure  if  you — to  whom  I 
owe  it  all — were  not  here,"  she  said.  "  The  magician 
who  created  the  spell  should  certainly  have  a  place  in  it." 

"You  still  regard  me  in  that  light?  As  I  have 
told  you  often,  you  overrate  immensely  all  that  I  have 
done;  but  I  am  selfish  enough  not  to  be  sorry,  since 
the  overrating  gives  me  a  place  in  your  thoughts  which 
I  might  else  lack." 

"  You  surely  know — "  her  voice  sank  a  little — "  that 
the  place  you  hold  in  my  life  and  my  thoughts  is  a  very 
great  one." 

"  Is  it  ? "  he  said,  trying  to  speak  lightly.  "  Then 
so  much  have  I  for  which  to  thank  Fortune — or  should 
I  thank  you  f  I  had  begun  to  fear  that  I  was  to  have 
no  place  at  all,  that  I  should  hardly  be  remembered  in 
your  new  life." 

A  faint,  somewhat  bitter  smile  came  on  her  lip. 
"  Then  you  have  yet  to  learn,"  she  said,  "  that  I  am  a 
very  selfish  creature.  I  always  remember  what  I  miss 
— and  I  have  missed  you  very  much.  There  has  been 
nobody  in  my  new  life  to  take  your  place." 

Lysle  looked  at  her,  but,  before  he  could  speak,  she 
went  on  with  an  eagerness  which  seemed  to  anticipate 
questioning : 


232  MISS  CEURCHILL:   A  STUDY. 

"  There  has  been  no  one  who  understood  me  as  you 
understand.  I  always  feel  secure  of  comprehension 
with  you — and  even  more  secure  of  sympathy.  You 
never  fail  to  respond  to  whatever  I  am  thinking  or 
feeHng.  And  when  one  has  known  sucli  responsive- 
ness once,  what  can  one  do  but  miss  it — when  it  is 
lost  ?  " 

Her  voice  fell,  her  eyes  turned  from  him  again  over 
the  wide,  wonderful  scene.  There  was  no  appeal  in 
her  words,  only  the  simple  statement  of  a  fact  which 
she  accepted  quietly.  But  such  quietness  was  not  im- 
mediately possible  to  him.  He  was  forced  to  struggle 
with  himself  for  a  moment  before  he  could  reply  with 
outward  calm : 

"  You  must  know  that  nothing  which  I  can  give 
has  ever  been  lost  to  you." 

"  Has  it  not  ? "  she  said,  with  the  faint  bitteraess  of 
her  smile  translated  into  her  tone.  "  I  must  differ  with 
you.  What  I  wanted  has  been  wholly  lost  to  me.  For, 
as  I  said  before,  I  am  a  selfish  creature,  and  I  did  not 
want  your  remembrance,  I  wanted  your  companion- 
ship, your  sjTupathy,  all  to  which  I  had  grown  accus- 
tomed." She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  out  of  which 
the  lio-ht  had  vanished.  "I  wanted  to  tell  vou  that 
everything  becomes  wearisome  as  soon  as  one  fully 
knows  it." 

"  I  think  I  warned  you  that  it  would  be  so — if  you 
chose  some  things,"  said  Lysle. 

"  I  do  not  think  the  fault  is  in  the  things,  but  in 
myself,"  she  answered.  "  It  is  the  old  story — nothing 
pleases,  nothing  satisfies  me  long.  As  soon  as  impres- 
sions grow  familiar  they  lose  their  charm,  and  what  1 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  233 

have  exhausted  I  desire  to  throw  awaj.  Sometimes 
the  prospect  appalls  me.  To  what  weariness  and  stale- 
ness  will  not  life  be  reduced  if  this  continues  to  go  on, 
as  no  doubt  it  will — to  the  end  !  " 

"  It  is  not  a  cheerful  prospect,"  said  Lysle,  '^  but  it 
is  so  much  a  part  of  your  nature  that  I  fear  you  can 
never  hope  to  escape  from  it  altogether.  Life  can 
never  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  imaginative  tempera- 
ment. You  can  only  limit  the  weariness  in  degree  by 
choosing  your  interests  wisely."  He  paused  with  a 
laugh  of  mingled  irony  and  vexation.  "How  insuf- 
ferable that  sounds  !  "  he  said.  "  And  yet  what  can  I 
say  else  ?  If  I  told  you  that  your  ideals  would  find 
their  fulfillment  in  the  realities  of  life,  you  would  not 
believe  me." 

"Perhaps  not,"  she  said,  slowly.  "And  yet — it  is 
hard  to  believe  that  such  weariness  is  the  inevitably 
appointed  end  of  all  things.  Honestly,  Mr.  Lysle,  do 
you  find  it  so  yourself  ? " 

"  I  ? "  he  said,  quickly,  "  I  do  not  often  pause  to 
think  about  it.  And  I  always  find  a  certain  satisfac- 
tion in  my  work,  however  unsatisfactory  life  may  be  in 
other  respects.  I  believe  that  you  too  might  find  this 
if — if  things  were  somewhat  different  with  you." 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  is  not  that  an  old  ignis  fatuus  f 
'  If  things  were  different,'  we  are  apt  to  fancy  that  we 
would  be  different  also.  But  you  see  I  have  tried  that. 
Tilings  are  very  different  with  me  from  what  they  were 
when  you  first  knew  me.  Yet  /  am  not  different. 
And  1  have  ceased  to  hope  that  I  ever  shall  be.  The 
same  blight  seems  to  fall  upon  everything.  Of  late  the 
passion  to  produce  has  taken  possession  of  me  again. 


234  ^^SS  CnURCElLL:    A  STUDY. 

Ideas  throng  upon  me  wliicli   I  long  to  express ;  but 
would  that  satisfaction  last  longer  than  any  other  ? " 

"  I  think  that  it  would,  because  it  is  the  one  which 
Kature  demands.  I  have  never  doubted  that." 
"  I  doubt  it,"  she  said,  "  as  I  doubt  everything." 
The  hopelessness  of  her  tone  was  like  the  closing  of 
a  door.  Lysle  did  not  answer,  for  there  seemed  noth- 
ing that  he  could  say.  Was  this  indeed  to  be  the  end 
of  all  that  he  had  hoped  for  her  ?  Silence  fell  over 
them,  as  twilight  was  falling  over  the  wide  scene  below, 
when  voices  drew  near,  and  they  knew  that  theii'  party 
was  at  hand. 


CHAPTEP.  III. 

A  STJEPPwiSE  T\'as  awaiting  Miss  Cliiircliill  wlien  she 
returned  to  Slieplieard's  Hotel  that  evening.  The  mail 
had  come  in  dm-ing  their  absence,  and  a  letter  lay  con- 
spicuously on  her  toilet-table.  Even  before  she  crossed 
the  floor,  she  knew  from  whom  it  came ;  and,  taking  it 
up,  broke  the  seal  with  a  faint  sigh.  But  she  was  not 
prepared  for  the  news  which  it  contained,  and  which 
she  communicated  to  the  marchesa  as  soon  as  they  met. 

"  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Dorrian,"  she  said. 
"  He  writes  that  he  is  coming  to  Cairo." 

"  To  Cairo — Herbert  Dorrian  !  "  exclaimed  the  mar- 
chesa. Then  she  laughed.  "I  congratulate  you  on 
your  power,"  she  said.  ''  I  am  sure  that  no  one  else  in 
the  world  could  have  induced  him  to  form  such  a  reso- 
lution." 

■  *'  I  have  made  no  effort  to  induce  him  to  form  it," 
said  Cecil.  ''  The  announcement  is  a  great  surprise  to 
me." 

"  And  not  altogether  a  pleasant  one,  apparently," 
thought  the  marchesa.  But  she  only  said:  *'Yet,  after 
all,  there  is  nothing  which  need  surprise  one  in  it.  He 
has  grown  tired  of  your  absence,  and  a  man  who  has 
nothing  to  keep  him  in  one  place  more  than  another, 
might  as  well  be  in  Egypt  as  in  Italy — much  better, 


236  MISS  CEUECHILL:    A  STUDY. 

indeed,  I  am  sure  he  thinks,  under  present  circum- 
stances.    And  when  may  we  expect  him?" 

"  In  a  few  days — I  did  not  observe  exactly  when. 
He  says  that  he  will  be  in  time  to,  accompany  us  back. 
I  suppose  it  will  be  necessary  to  go  back  ? " 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  the  marchesa,  smiling.  "  I  can 
not  say  that  I  should  like  to  remain  definitely  in  Cairo 
— would  you  ? " 

'^  Like  to  remain  definitely  here  f  Oh,  no.  But  I 
should  like  to  go  farther  into  these  wonderful  old  lands. 
I  dislike  to  turn  back  at  the  threshold.  That  sounds 
ungrateful,  I  am  afraid  ;  but  you  know — you  under- 
stand— " 

"  That  you  would  like  to  penetrate  into  the  heart  of 
Africa,  notwithstanding  the  Mahdi  ?  Yes,  I  understand 
that.  Unfortunately,  it  is  hardly  practicable  ;  but  Ber- 
nard was  making  a  suggestion  to-day — " 

"  Yes,"  said  Cecil,  as  she  paused.  "Mr.  Lysle  is  al- 
ways making  some  suggestion  for  our  pleasure.  What 
is  it  now? " 

"  That  he  thinks  we  might  attempt  with  safety  a 
short  ascent  of  the  Nile.  It  seems  a  somewhat  reck- 
less thing  at  present,  but  I  have  great  confidence  in 
Bernard's  judgment." 

"I  have  all  confidence  in  it,"  said  Cecil,  quickly. 
"  Is'o  one  knows  the  state  of  the  country  so  well  as  he 
does ;  and  if  he  thinks  it  safe  for  us  to  go,  you  may  be 
sure  that  it  is  safe.     I,  at  least,  should  have  no  fear." 

"Nor  I,  really.  So  we  may  take  it  into  considera- 
tion ;  and  when  Herbert  Dorrian  comes — " 

Cecil's  face  changed — suddenly,  unexpectedly,  be- 
yond her  power  of  control.     "  Do  you  think  it  neces- 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  237 

sary  to  wait  for  his  coming  ? "  she  asked,  in  a  voice  as 
altered  as  her  face.  ''  I  think  the  voyage  would  only 
bore  him,  and  it  would  be  well  to  go  and  return  before 
his  arrival." 

"  That  will  depend  npon  the  time  of  his  arrival," 
said  the  marchesa.  The  voyage  would  bore  him,  I 
think — as  most  things  do — but  we  can  not  for  that  rea- 
son go  away  in  the  face  of  his  expected  coming,  and 
leave  him  to  wait  for  ns ;  unless,  indeed,  the  coming  is 
to  be  deferred  for  some  time.  Surely  he  has  men- 
tioned a  date  ? " 

"I_ think  not,"  said  Cecil.  "But  I  will  look 
again." 

She  looked  again,  and  announced  that  Mr.  Dorrian 
expected  to  take  the  next  steamer  from  Brindisi  after 
his  letter  was  written.  "  In  that  case,"  said  the  mar- 
chesa, "  there  need  be  no  doubt  reo-ardino:  the  time  of 
his  arrival.  We  have  only  to  learn  when  the  next  P. 
and  O.  is  due." 

Lysle,  who  made  his  appearance  presently,  was  able 
to  answer  this  question.  His  face  also  changed  a  lit- 
tle when  he  heard  that  Dorrian  was  expected ;  but  he 
made  no  comment  except  to  agree  with  the  marchesa 
that  he  must  be  included  in  their  Kile  party.  "  And 
I  am  glad,"  he  added  after  a  moment,  "  that  he  will  be 
with  you  on  your  return — for  I,  unfortunately,  shall 
not  be." 

"  Why,  where  will  you  be  ? "  asked  the  marchesa, 
while  Cecil  glanced  at  him  hastily. 

"  I  shall  continue  up  the  river  and  join  Hicks's 
force,"  he  answered.  "But  for  your  arrival  I  should 
be  with  them  now.     Knowing  that  I  could  join  him 


238  MISS  CnURCEILL:    A  STUDY, 

later,  however — ^before  anjtliing  like  active  service  be- 
gan— I  could  not  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you." 

There  was  a  short  silence.  No  one  had  yet  realized 
fully  the  extent  of  the  revolt  in  the  Soudan,  or  the 
degree  of  the  danger  to  which  Hicks's  fated  column 
marched  ;  but  there  was  sufficient  knowledge  to  justify 
uneasiness  concerning  all  those  who  shared  in  it.  The 
marchesa  gave  a  short  sigh.  "  I  wish,"  she  said,  "  that 
you  were  not  going.  I  wish  that  you  would  give  up 
the  expedition  altogether." 

He  smiled  slightly.  "  And  then  ?  What  should  I 
do  ? " 

"  Go  back  with  us." 

*'  You  are  very  kind."  His  smile  deepened  to  irony. 
"  But  I  see  what  is  before  me  in  the  desert.  I  confess 
that  I  do  not  see  what  would  be  before  me  if  I  went 
back  with  you.  Life  must  have  an  object  to  be  en- 
durable." 

"  And  do  you  call  it  an  object  to  run  the  risk  of 
being  speared  in  the  desert  ?  " 

^'  The  risk  amounts  to  nothing.  It  is  Jcismet,  as  the 
Arabs  say.  And  if  there  were  no  danger,  I  certainly 
should  not  go.  The  thing  would  be  simply  tedious 
and  disagreeable  in  that  case." 

"  Do  you  never  remember  that  he  who  loves  danger 
is  very  likely  to  perish  in  it  ? " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  One  must  perish  in 
some  way ;  and  I,  for  one,  should  prefer  the  rush  of 
conflict,  the  swift,  sharp  end  of  bullet  or  spear,  to  the 
slow  wearing  out  of  life  from  age  or  disease.  But  this 
is  not  a  cheerful  discussion — and  Miss  Churchill  looks 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  239 

reproachful.  Let  us  talk,  iDstead,  of  our  ^ile  voyage. 
How  far  up  the  river  do  you  think  you  can  venture?  " 

"  That  is  for  you  to  decide.  We  leave  it  altogether 
to  you." 

"  Then  I  must  gather  all  the  information  possible, 
and  decide  carefully.  Meanwhile,  however,  I  can  en- 
gage the  dahabeah,  and  make  arrangements — since  you 
are  positive  that  you  will  go." 

The  marchesa  looked  at  Cecil  and  said :  "  Yes,  you 
may  consider  it  positive  that  we  will  go,  even  if  it 
should  be  necessary  to  return  very  soon.  We  will  see 
you  as  far  on  your  way  as  you  will  let  us." 

The  next  few  davs  were  somewhat  like  a  dream  to 
Lysle.  Preparations  for  his  own  departure  into  remote 
regions  and  stern  dangers  were  accompanied  by  prepara- 
tions for  holiday  voyaging  on  the  Mle,  by  learning  how 
far  this  voyaging  might  with  safety  extend,  and  in  ex- 
cursions to  every  place  in  and  around  Cairo  which  he 
thought  likely  to  interest  Cecil.  But  the  quality  of  her 
interest  seemed  to  have  changed  since  she  heard  of  Dor- 
rian's  expected  arrival.  There  was  a  feverish  touch  to 
it  now.  She  threw  herself  into  every  pleasure  that 
offered,  with  the  eagerness  of  one  who  wishes  to  escape 
thought  and  make  the  most  of  shortening  time — a  spirit 
very  different  from  the  manner  in  which  she  had  en- 
joyed the  first  days.  Lysle  perceived  this  difference, 
and  drew  his  own  conclusion  from  it — a  conclusion 
which  did  not  very  much  lighten  his  heart. 

For  he  was  as  singularly  unselfish,  in  his  manner  of 
regarding  her  now  as  he  had  been  when  he  opened  the 
door  which  led  for  her  into  the  world  and  himself 
stepped  aside.     There  was  no  tinge  of  satisfaction  in 


240  JJ^ISS  CHURCniLL:    A  STUDY. 

his  realization  tliat  liis  propliecies  were  evidently  ful- 
filled ;  that  the  fairy  gold  of  luxury,  culture,  pleasure  at 
which  she  grasped,  had  turned  in  her  hand  to  withered 
leaves,  and  that  the  man  whom  she  had  promised  to 
marry  could  not  command  her  loyalty.  "It  would 
have  been  better  if  I  had  not  stayed  to  see  it,"  he 
thought;  "but,  having  stayed,  I  might  as  well  see  it 
to  the  end  now." 

He  felt  that  this  end  was  in  sight  when,  entering  the 
marchesa's  apartment  one  evening,  he  found  Dorrian — 
latel}^  arrived  and  altogether  unchanged.  A  greetiog 
of  surface  cordiality  passed  between  them,  and  then  he 
learned,  what  did  not  at  all  surprise  him,  that  Mr.  Dor- 
rian disapproved  of  the  projected  voyage  up  the  Nile. 

"  An  excursion  that  has  been  vulgarized  into  a  cock- 
ney tour,"  said  that  gentleman,  "  nothing  to  be  seen 
but  what  has  been  described  ad  ncatsecnn  by  a  hundred 
tourists,  and  some  danger  to  be  incurred  for  the  sake  of 
a  few  mud  villages,  Arabs,  camels,  and  crocodiles." 

"With  regard  to  the  danger,  you  are  mistaken," 
said  Lysle.  "  Egypt  is  absolutely  tranquil  at  present ; 
the  trouble  in  the  Soudan  has  not  an  echo  here.  The 
ascent  of  the  river  as  far  as  Assouan  is  perfectly  safe, 
though  I  do  not  counsel  the  marchesa  to  go  so  far. 
She  will  be  satisfied,  I  am  sure,  with  a  shorter  voyage." 

"  I  shall  be  satisfied  to  abide  by  your  judgment  in 
all  respects,  my  dear  Bernard,"  said  the  marchesa. 
"  You,  who  know  this  country  and  its  affairs  so  well, 
are  not  likely  to  mislead  us." 

"  And  T,"  said  Cecil,  speaking  quickly  with  a  height- 
ened color,  "  am  quite  willing  to  go  to  Assouan." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  that,"  said  Lysle,  "  but  we  will 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  241 

not  try  your  bravery  so  far.  It  is  natural,"  lie  added, 
turning  to  Dorrian,  on  whose  lip  a  slow,  faint  smile  had 
formed,  "  that  you  should  disapprove  of  incurring  any 
risk,  and  1  beg  that  you  will  satisfy  yourself  that  there 
is  none.  You  are  no  doubt  acquainted  with  some  of 
the  English  officials  here  ?  They  will  tell  you  whether 
I  am  right  or  not." 

"  I  shall  make  a  point  of  seeing  one  or  two  of  them 
to-morrow,"  said  Dorrian,  with  an  air  of  dismissing  the 
subject. 

He  paid  the  visits  next  day,  but  to  his  disappoint- 
ment the  officials  all  indorsed  Lysle's  opinion.  Egypt 
proper  was  entirely  tranquil,  and  there  was  no  reason 
why  a  voyage  of  the  kind  desired  should  not  be  made 
with  safety,  although  it  was  added  with  a  smile  that  the 
ladies  were  brave  who  thought  of  it.  Dorrian  with  a 
sense  of  irritation  substituted  in  his  own  mind  another 
word  for  brave,  but  he  was  forced  to  own  that  he  could 
bring  no  argument  to  bear  strong  enough  to  dissuade 
them.  It  added  to  his  irritation  that  he  was  assured 
on  all  sides  that  Lysle's  presence  was  of  the  nature  of  a 
safeguard.  "  He  knows  the  country  and  all  the  chiefs 
well,  speaks  Arabic  fluently,  and  is  never  at  fault  in  his 
judgment,"  said  one  of  the  leading  officials.  "You 
may  feel  safe  as  long  as  he  sees  no  danger." 

With  the  ground  of  his  objections  thus  cut  from 
under  his  feet,  Mr.  Dorrian  perceived  that  there  re- 
mained only  the  alternative  of  accompanying  the  party, 
or  remaining  in  Cairo  with  the  odium  of  cowardice 
attaching  to  him.  It  was  not  strange  that  he  could  not 
decide  to  take  the  latter,  since  the  true  reason  of  his 

dislike  to  the  voyage  was  not  fear.      He  had  all  the 
21 


242  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

physical  courage  wliicli  characterizes  his  race,  and,  \Yhile 
too  indolent  to  seek  danger,  possessed  a  contempt  for  it 
which  ejffectuallj  prevented  his  ever  avoiding  it.  The 
real  ground  of  his  objection  Avas  the  fact  that  on  the 
expedition  he  could  only  fill  a  place  of  subordinate 
Importance,  that  Lysle  was  the  person  to  whose  decis- 
ions and  opinions  the  marchesa  would  certainly  defer, 
and  that  Miss  Churchill  yielded  to  the  influence  of  the 
latter  in  a  manner  far  from  pleasing  to  his  pride. 

Aware,  however,  that  his  own  influence  would  be 
powerless  to  deter  her  from  the  voyage  on  which  her 
heart  was  set,  there  remained  the  necessity  of  accompa- 
nying her.  And  it  was  a  tribute  to  Cecil's  power  that 
he  should  have  owned  this  necessity ;  that  he  did  not 
offer  to  her  the  alternative  of  abandoning  the  voyage, 
or  of  parting  with  him  finally.  But,  although  he  did 
not  acknowledge  to  himself,  he  nevertheless  felt  that  if 
placed  in  such  a  position  she  would  not  hesitate,  but 
would  accept  willingly  enough  the  freedom  offered. 
This  consciousness  of  her  indifference  roused  whatever 
of  latent  passion  and  latent  obstinacy  his  own  nature 
contained,  and  his  determination  to  maintain  the  bond 
which  existed  between  them  derived  its  chief  force 
from  the  belief  that  she  would  break  it  without  hesita- 
tion. 

But,  under  these  circumstances,  it  could  hardly  be 
said  that  the  ^ile  voyage  promised  to  be  altogether  a 
success. 


CHAPTEK  lY. 

Afloat  on  the  broad  breast  of  tbe  noble  river,  a 
lustrous  tranquillity  in  tbe  wide,  cloudless  beaven,  a 
glassy,  rippling  current  making  soft,  monotonous  music 
about  tbe  prow  of  tbe  boat,  tbe  great  lateen  sail  filled 
witb  a  steady  breeze,  life  seemed  for  a  tim.e  to  lose  tbe 
sense  of  friction,  and  resolve  itself  into  an  infinite 
cbarra  of  repose.  'No  one  of  tbe  small  party  gatbered 
on  tbe  dahahcah  wbicb  Lysle  bad  so  carefully  selected, 
but  felt  tbis  cbarm.  Even  Dorrian  could  not  deny  tbat 
tbe  life  suited  bis  Sybarite  taste.  Lounging  on  tbe 
upper  deck,  under  tbe  awning  wbicb  sbielded  from  all 
beat  and  glare,  it  was  a  pleasure  quite  apart  from  any 
necessity  of  exertion  to  watcb  tbe  low  sbores  bordered 
by  groves  of  plume-like  palms,  tbe  sboals  of  yellow 
sand  covered  witb  pelicans,  snowy  ibises  and  fowls  of 
strange,  brilliant  plumage,  tbe  villages  grouped  around 
tbeir  graceful  minarets,  tbe  ricb  verdure  of  tbe  level 
valley  spreading  to  tbe  mysterious  desert,  camels  slowly 
moving  in  tbe  distance,  buffaloes  immersed  in  tbe  water, 
fellabeen  busy  witb  tbeir  bopeless  toil,  stately  Arabs 
witb  flowing  robes,  boats  fiUed  witb  vivid  color — all 
tbe  panorama  of  varied  life  wbicb  for  so  many  ages 
bas  moved  along  the  famous  immemorial  river. 

During  tbe  first  few  days  Miss  Cburcbill  seemed 


244:  ^ISS  CEJJE CHILL:    A  STUDY. 

absorbed  in  tliis  panorama.  Slic  sat  upon  deck,  for 
hours,  almost  without  speaking,  gazing  at  the  changing 
scenes  and  at  tlie  far  Libyan  Desert  with  eyes  that 
appeared  to  see  not  only  the  present,  but  all  the  distant, 
shadow^y  past.  The  languorous  spell  of  old  Egypt 
seemed  to  envelop  her.  She  yielded  to  it  as  only  the 
intensely  imaginative  and  receptive  temperament  does 
yield  to  such  influences,  steeping  herself  in  them  as  a 
flower  is  steeped  in  sunlight.  Both  men  watched  her 
— one  sympathetically,  the  other  curiously.  What  did 
this  silence,  this  aloofness  from  her  immediate  sur- 
roundings, this  air  of  rapt  contemplation,  mean  ?  Of 
its  naturalness  there  could  be  no  question.  When  ad- 
dressed, she  roused  herself  wdth  an  eifort ;  her  eyes  had 
a  look  when  she  turned  them  on  the  speaker  as  if  she 
had  been  gazing  at  a  dazzling  sunset.  The  marchesa 
would  ask,  with  a  laugh,  if  she  cam.e  back  from  the 
time  of  the  Pharaohs. 

"  Do  you  not  think,"  Dorrian  said  one  day,  coming 
over  to  the  side  of  the  deck  where  she  sat,  somewhat 
withdrawn,  an  unread  book  lying  on  her  lap,  "  that  it 
is  a  little  selfish  not  to  allow  any  one  to  share  what 
seems  to  interest  you  so  much?  I  am  rather  at  a  loss 
to  imagine  what  it  can  be,"  he  added,  looking  dispas- 
sionately at  the  scene  before  them.  "  Endless  palms, 
mud  villages,  half-naked  villagers,  and  buffaloes,  have 
begun  to  prove  a  trifle  monotonous ;  but,  if  any  charm 
lies  below  the  sameness,  pray  let  me  know,  in  common 
charity,  what  it  is." 

She  smiled  slightly.  "  I  fear,"  she  said,  "  that  I 
could  hardly  make  it  apparent  to  you,  if  you  have  no 
perception  of  it  without  interpretation.      It  is  all   a 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  245 

matter  of  feeling.  The  wide  arch  of  this  Egyptian 
ekv ;  the  full,  solemn  flow  of  these  waters,  once  so  mys- 
terious and  always  so  great ;  the  distant  desert,  and  the 
silent  hills — these  things  have  so  many  suggestions  that 
I  quite  forget  the  human  beings  who  fill  the  mud  vil- 
lages. Kot  but  that  they,  too,  have  an  interest  of  their 
own,"  she  added,  turning  her  gaze  upon  a  group  on 
the  river-bank,  whose  half-clad  forms  shone  like  pol- 
ished bronze  in  a  warm  glow  of  light. 

'^  They  would  make  very  good  models  for  a  sculp- 
tor," said  Dorrian,  lazily  ;  "  but,  from  any  other  point 
of  view,  I  confess  I  am  unable  to  detect  any  interesting 
qualities." 

"  I  can  imagine  a  great  many.  There  must  always 
be  interest  in  the  studv  of  human  nature  under  condi- 

t/ 

tions  different  from  those  one  has  known  before." 

'^  There  I  disagree  with  you.  Whatever  its  condi- 
tions, human  nature  always  remains  the  same — a  thing 
which,  taken  in  the  mass,  can  only  disgust  and  bore  one. 
What  does  all  the  study  of  it  amount  to,  of  which  one 
hears  so  much  ?  Only  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is 
absolutely  nothing  worth  studying.  You  must  culti- 
vate human  nature  to  a  very  high  point  before  it  can 
become  worthy  of  attention." 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  that  the  gain  in  culti- 
vation is  often  a  sacrifice  in  vigor.  In  those — savages 
you  would  call  them,  would  you  not  ? — yonder,  there 
must  be  a  great  deal  of  the  force  of  primitive  pas- 
sion. I  should  like  to  come  close  enough  to  them  to 
study  it." 

"  I  trust  that  we  may  not  have  an  opportunity  to 
study  it  closer  than  is  desirable  before  we  return  to 


246  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

Cairo,"  said  Dorrian.  *•'  To  me  tlie  pi'imitive  passion  of 
a  savage  is  the  least  interesting  of  liuman  phenomena." 

"  And  to  me,"  said  Cecil,  "  there  is  one,  at  least, 
much  less  interesting — the  narrow  sympathy  of  a  man 
whose "  culture  does  not  lead  him  to  feel  himself 
*  stranger  to  nothing  that  is  human,'  but  which  makes 
him  despise  all  that  is  broadly  and  universally  liuman." 

Dorrian,  who  had  thrown  himself  down  among  the 
cushions  of  a  divan,  looked  at  her  with  a  smile. 

"And  I  am  the  man?"  he  said.  "You  are  very 
kind  to  let  me  know  it  in  such  unambiguous  fashion. 
I  fear  that  I  must  plead  guilty  to  the  charge.  "What  is 
'  broadly  and  universally  human '  is  essentially  com- 
monplace— and  of  the  commonplace  I  have  an  infinite 
disgust." 

"  What  I  mean  is  not  commonplace,"  she  said. 
"  That  term  applies  only  to  petty  things.  What  1 
mean  are  great  things — passions,  feelings,  sentiments, 
which  the  best  portion  of  the  race  have  always  held  in 
common." 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  Dorrian,  languidly ;  "but  what 
the  best  portion  of  the  race  have  felt,  interests  me  very 
little.  I  care  only  for  what  a  few  of  its  members  have 
done." 

"  In  short,"  she  said,  looking  away  from  him  into 
the  distance,  "you  care  only  for  what  ministers  to  your 
individual  pleasure  and  satisfaction.  But  such  egoism 
— forgive  me  if  I  use  a  plain  term — narrows  life  terri- 
bly." 

"  It  narrows  its  power  of  annoyance,"  he  answered. 
"  Have  you  not  learned  yet  that  the  wider  your  sympa- 
thies, the  wider  your  possible  annoyances  ?  " 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  247 

"  That  is  tnie."  She  spoke  as  if  to  lierself — then 
added  quickly,  "  But  it  is  better  to  pay  the  penalty  of 
a  wide  life  than  to  narrow  it  down  to  selfish  epicnrean- 
ism. 

"  That  is  for  one  to  decide  according  to  one's  taste, 
said  Dorrian.  "  /  have  decided  ;  and  I  regret  that  it 
should  be  still  an  open  question  in  your  mind." 

''  There  is  much  besides  that  which  is  still  an  open 
question  in  my  mind,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone. 

Silence  fell  after  this.  Both  felt  that  a  word  more 
might  bring  them  to  an  issue  which  neither  was  pre- 
pared to  face.  It  was  a  relief  that  at  this  moment  the 
marchesa  crossed  the  deck. 

*'  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  addressing  them  as  she 
approached,  *'  that  Bernard  is  already  beginning  to  talk 
of  our  returning  to  Cairo  ?  I  am  disaj^pointed,  I  con- 
fess. I  had  set  my  heart  on  going  as  far  as  the  first 
cataract." 

''  But  surely  he  does  not  talk  of  our  returning  at 
once,  or  soon?"  asked  Cecil,  with  an  air  of  consterna- 
tion. "  Why,  the  charm  of  the  life  is  just  beginning 
to  grow  upon  us,  and  the  river  is  daily  becoming  more 
interesting." 

"  So  I  represented  ;  but  he  has  heard  some  rumors 
that  he  does  not  like.  However,  we  shall  be  at  Assiout 
this  evening,  where  he  will  see  the  governor  of  the 
province,  and  learn  how  much  farther  it  is  safe  to  go." 

"  I  hope  that  the  governor  of  the  province  will 
prove  to  be  a  man  of  sense,  and  order  us  back  to  Cairo," 
said  Dorrian.  '^  This  life  is  sufficiently  agreeable,  but 
the  charm  hardly  pays  for  the  risk." 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  there  is  any  risk  at  all,"  said 


248  MISS  CEURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

Cecil.  ''What  could  be  more  peaceful  than  the  coun- 
try ?  And  if  there  were  a  risk,  it  would  add  to  the 
charm  !  I  am  sure  Mr.  Lysle  can  not  mean  to  suggest 
that  we  should  go  back  before  reaching  Thebes." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  does  mean  just  that,"  said  the  mar- 
chesa.  ''  He  is  very  sorry ;  but  you  know  the  respon- 
sibility of  our  safety  rests  upon  him." 

"  Then  let  us  relieve  him  of  the  responsibility  and 
take  it  upon  ourselves,"  said  Miss  Churchill,  quickly. 
"  It  is  too  much  to  ask  us  to  turn  back  without  accom- 
plishing anything." 

"  Why  should  we  accomplish  anything  \ "  said  Dor- 
rian.  "  To  read  of  the  ruins  of  Thebes  is  quite  as  sat- 
isfactory as  to  see  them — probably  more  so.  And  as 
for  the  chann  of  this  Nile-life— well,  that  can  be  re- 
peated, you  know.  If  we  like,  we  can  come  back 
when  things  finally  settle  down  into  quietness." 

"  Ah  —  come  back  !  "  said  Cecil.  There  was  a 
slight  fall,  a  slighter  quiver,  in  her  voice  as  she  looked 
at  the  distant  hills,  rose-red  in  the  sunset  glow.  "  Who 
cares  to  come  back  —  who  cares  to  renew  a  broken 
charm  ?  It  is  always  a  mistake.  If  I  came  back,  I 
should  care  nothing  for  the  Nile  or  for  Thebes.  But 
now — I  do  care." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke  and  walked  across  the  deck 
to  where  Lysle  was  standing  at  the  railing,  sweeping 
the  river-bank  with  his  glass.  He  did  not  hear  her 
approach,  and  when  she  spoke  suddenly  at  his  side,  he 
lowered  the  glass  with  a  start. 

"  What  is  this  the  marchesa  is  telling  me,  Mr. 
Lysle  ?  "  she  began,  quickly.  "  That  you  are  going  to 
order  us  back  to  Cairo  ?     But  it  is  impossible — you 


TEE  SEADOW  OF  TEE  PALMS.  2^19 

must  know  tliat  it  is  impossible  I     Why,  it  would  be 
absurd  to  go  back  without  having  seen  Thebes." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  smile. 

''  I  do  not  know  when  I  have  seen  you  excited  be- 
fore," he  said.  "  And  you  really  care  so  much  for 
Thebes  ?  "Well,  if  it  be  possible,  you  may  be  sure  that 
you  shall  see  it.  But  if  there  is  the  least  suspicion  of 
danger,  you  must  be  content  to  turn  back." 

She  shook  her  head.  ''  Not  on  a  mere  suspicion. 
You  should  not  ask  that.  And  you  know  there  is  no 
more  than,  if  indeed  there  is  so  much  as,  a  suspicion — 
of  danger.  But  I  have  a  suspicion  of  another  kind.  I 
suspect  you  of  being  tired  of  this  idling  mode  of  prog- 
ress;  of  wanting  to  throw  us  off  and  hurry  on  to  the 
real  danger  that  is  ahead." 

Even  through  his  deeply  bronzed  skin  a  flush  was 
visible.  It  seemed  as  if  for  a  moment  he  could  not 
meet  the  glance  which  was  bent  upon  him  so  search- 
ino^lv. 

"You  are  very  unkind — and  unjust — to  suspect  that," 
he  said,  hastily.  "  If  I  thought  of  myself,  I  should 
wish  to  prolong  our  voyage  indefinitely — for  when  am 
I  likely  ever  to  know  such  another  ?  To  fancv  that  I 
am  anxious  to  give  up  this  charming  lotus-eating  exist- 
ence for  the  hardships,  privations,  and  dangers  that 
await  me— well,  that  is  not  very  likely  on  the  face 
of  it." 

"On  the  face  of  it,  perhaps  not,"  she  answered. 
"But  sometimes  one  feels— one  has  an  instinct— what 
lies  below  the  face  of  things.  And  I  really  think  that 
you  are  tired  of  us,  Mr.  Lysle — that  you  want  to  be 
free.     I  have  observed  your  restlessness  for  a  day  or 


'250  MISS  CHUB  CHILL:    A  STUDY. 

two.  And,  if  this  were  so,  I  should  like  you  to  tell 
me  frankly.  In  that  case  I  would  not  object  to  our 
turning  back  to-morrow — and  I  am  the  only  person  who 
does  object." 

By  this  time  he  had  recovered  himself,  and  there 
was  a  look  of  amusement  in  the  dark  eyes  that  with  all 
their  keenness  were  never  unkindly. 

"  What  a  fair  and  liberal  proposal !  "  he  said.  "  It 
is  a  pity  that  I  can  not  close  with  it ;  but  since  to  do 
so  would  commit  me  to  a  stupendous  falsehood,  and 
would  make  me  suffer  more  than  it  would  any  one  else, 
I  must  stand  firm  on  my  integrity.  Seriously,  I  can 
not  think  that  you  believe  me  to  be  tired  of  sucli  com- 
panionship. Tired  of  myself  I  may  be — that  is  an  old 
story.     But  not  of — others." 

For  a  moment  she  looked  down  silently  at  the 
yellow-green  water  flowing  by  the  side  of  the  boat. 
Then— 

''  I  never  thought,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  '^  that 
you  were  ever  tired  of  yourself.  You  seem  always  so 
self-sustained." 

"So  I  am,"  he  answered,  lightly.  "But  occasion- 
ally one  may  grow  tired  of  sustaining  one's  self.  And 
then  the  use  of  one's  friends  becomes  very  apparent. 
So  you  may  depend  upon  it  that  I  shall  not  part  with 
yon  all  until  my  sense  of  responsibility  forces  me  to 
do  it." 

She  sighed  a  little.  "  You  are  fencing  me  off,"  she 
said.  ■"  You  are  not  telling  me  truly  what  you  feel. 
But  I  have  no  right  to  complain  of  that.  Only — I 
should  like  to  do  what  you  really  desire." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  he  said,  "  but  I  assure  you 


TEE  SEADOW  OF  TEE  PALMS.  251 

that  what  I  desire  is  to  accomplish  if  possible  what  yoii^ 
desire  in  this  matter." 

"  Then  we  shall  go  to  Thebes  ? " 

"  If  I  am  assured  at  Assiout  that  it  is  safe  to  do  so. 
You  should  not  ask  me  to  take  the  responsibilitj  of  any 
risk." 

"  Personally  I  care  nothing  for  the  risk.  Life  is 
such  a  tame  affair  that  I  should  be  glad  of  anything  to 
give  zest  to  it.  I  wish  that  I  could  change  places  with 
you.     I  wish  that  I  were  going  to  meet  the  Mahdi." 

There  was  a  curious  intensity  and  recklessness  in 
her  tone  as  she  made  this  w^sh,  which  might  else  have 
passed  for  jesting  pleasantry.  Lysle  was  fully  alive  to 
the  tone,  but  he  thought  it  best  to  take  the  words  as  a 
jest. 

*'You  would  make  a  good  campaigner,"  he  said. 
"  There  is  no  doubt  of  that.  And  I  think  you  would 
enjoy  it,  too — up  to  a  certain  point." 

''Oh,  one  reaches  the  point  in  everything  when 
things  cease  to  be  enjoyable,"  she  said,  a  little  wearily. 
"I  have  lono;  since  realized  that.  I  am  inchned  to 
think  that  the  pleasure  of  adventure,  the  spice  of  dan- 
ger, might  last  longer  than  any  other." 

"Hardly  for  you— your  needs  are  too  intellectual," 
answered  Lysle,  falling  into  the  personal  discussion 
which  he  had  of  late  avoided.  "I  have  always  be- 
lieved, I  still  believe,  that  you  will  find  your  best  hope 
of  pleasure,  or  at  least  of  satisfaction,  in  a  life  of  intel- 
lectual activity  and  production." 

Her  lip  curled  a  little  as  she  glanced  across  the  deck 
where  Dorrian  still  reclined  on  his  cushions. 

"  He— that  is,  some  people— think  that  the  period 


252  ^ISS   CUURCniLL:    A  STUDY. 

for  production  is  past,"  slie  said,  "  tliat  everything  lias 
been  said  which  can  be  said,  and  that  all  art  to-day  is 
but  a  feeble  echo  of  what  greater  men  have  done." 

"  But  you  do  not  believe  such  dilettante  nonsense." 

"  I — yes,  sometimes  I  believe  it.  In  its  application 
to  myself,  indeed,  I  have  no  difficulty  m  believing  it. 
You  know  I  never  had  much  faith  in  myself." 

"  I  know  that  you  need  a  stimulus,  and  that,  on  the 
contrary,  you  have  chosen  a  life  which  deadens  all  aspi- 
ration," said  Lysle,  too  much  moved  to  be  guarded. 

She  looked  at  him  wistfully  and  silently  for  a  mo- 
ment. "  I  have  been  a  great  disappointment  to  you, 
have  I  not?"  she  said.  "I  remember  you  told  me 
once  that  you  never  expected  anything  save  disappoint- 
ment. But  I  think  you  did  expect  something  else 
from  me.  Well,  if  it  is  any  comfort  to  you,  pray  be- 
lieve that  1  am  as  much  disappointed  in  myself  as  you 
can  be  in  me." 

Then  before  he  could  answer,  she  turned  abruptly 
and  left  him. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

It  is  almost  needless  to  say  that,  after  this,  the  daha- 
heah  held  steadily  on  her  way  np  the  river  toward 
Thebes.  It  would  have  required  more  than  a  mere 
suspicion  of  possible  danger  to  have  nerved  Lvsle  to 
order  it  back  to  Cairo  after  he  learned  how  much  Miss 
Churchill  desired  to  see  the  famous  ruins  of  ''the 
world's  great  mistress  on  the  Egyptian  plain,"  and  also 
after  her  charge  that  he  wanted  to  shake  off  companion- 
ship and  pursue  his  journey  alone. 

The  sting  of  this  charge  was  in  the  grain  of  truth 
which  it  contained.  He  had  spoken  truly  in  denying 
that  he  was  tired  of  his  companions ;  but  he  loas  tired 
of  the  constraint  in  which  it  was  necessary  to  hold  him- 
self, of  being  debarred  by  Dorrian's  presence  and  quiet 
l)ut  imperious  claims  from  that  intimate  association  with 
Cecil  into  which  he  had  again  drifted  at  Cairo,  and 
above  all,  of  the  useless  pain  of  witnessing  her  weari- 
ness and  dissatisfaction  with  the  life  she  had  chosen. 
But,  feeling  as  he  did  that  this  was  their  last  associa- 
tion— for  what  could  Herbert  Dorrian's  wife  be  but  a 
stranger  to  him  ? — he  could  not  deny  her  desire,  even 
at  the  cost  of  prolonged  pain  to  himself. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  an  evening  of  warm 
and  glowing  beauty  saw  their  boat  moored  at  Luxor. 
22 


254:  MISS  CEUllCniLL:    A  STUDY. 

They  had  spent  the  day  on  the  western  bank  of  the 
river,  wandering  amid  tlie  ruined  temples  and  tombs  of 
that  City  of  the  Dead  over  which  voiceless  Memnon 
presides  in  shattered  majesty,  the  incarnation  of  the 
mystery,  the  immensity,  and  solemnity  of  the  mighty 
past.  With  the  evening  breeze  they  crossed  from  the 
Libyan  to  the  Arabian  side  and  made  fast  for  the 
night. 

"  Are  you  too  tired  by  your  day's  exertions  for  a 
stroll  on  shore  ?  "  said  Lysle,  then,  addressing  the  mar- 
chesa. 

"  I  believe  I  am  a  little  tired,"  she  replied.  "  We 
are  to  devote  to-morrow  to  Luxor  and  Karnak  are  we 
not  ?     I  think  I  shall  wait  for  that." 

'''  I  also,"  said  Dorrian,  languidly,  from  the  depths 
of  the  lounging  chair  into  w^hich  he  had  thrown  him- 
self. "  It  is  much  pleasanter  to  sit  here  and  watch  the 
scene — those  columns  reflected  in  the  water,  that  stretch 
of  glassy  current  with  sunset  lights  on  it — than  to  fa- 
tigue and  annoy  one's  self  by  stumbling  through  sand 
and  dust  on  shore." 

"/am  not  tired,"  said  Cecil,  looking  up  at  Lysle, 
"  and  I  should  like  to  go  on  shore  very  much." 

"  Then  will  you  come  ? "  he  answered,  scarcely 
knowing  whether  he  was  glad  or  sorry. 

For  he  had  avoided  her  all  day — devoting  himself 
to  the  marchesa  and  leaving  her  to  the  guidance  of 
Dorrian.  Once  or  twice  there  had  been  a  v/istful  look 
in  her  eyes  which  he  had  found  it  hard  to  resist ;  but 
the  time  had  come  when  he  felt  resistance  necessary, 
when  he  dared  no  longer  trust  himself  to  the  danger- 
ous charm  of  her  companionship.     But  when  she  turned 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  255 

to  him  now  liow  could  he  refuse  'I — how  could  he  even 
wish  to  refuse,  since  the  time  had  grown  so  short  in 
which  they  would  yet  be  together?  A  few  minutes 
later,  therefore,  saw  them  walking  up  the  steep  bank 
from  the  river. 

The  two  on  the  boat  watched  them  silently  for  a 
short  time.     Then  the  marchesa  said,  carelessly : 

"  Cecil  has  a  great  deal  of  energy — and  of  interest." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Dorrian.  "  But  both  the  energy 
and  tlie  interest  are  of  a  somewhat  intermittent  char- 
acter. And  they  are  much  quickened,  apparently,  by 
Mr.  Lysle's  society." 

The  marchesa  glanced  at  him  rapidly.  But  if  she 
had  fancied  that  she  would  surprise  any  trace  of  annoy- 
ance— of  jealousy  or  pique — on  his  face,  she  was  mis- 
taken. He  was  still  watching  the  two  figures  on  the 
bank,  with  an  air  of  composure  thoroughly  in  accord 
with  the  indifferent  tone  of  his  voice. 

"  They  are  old  friends,"  she  said,  "  and  more  than 
that — sympathetic  friends.  They  have  many  tastes  in 
common." 

"  Evidently,"  said  Dorrian.  He  smiled.  "  My  dear 
marchesa,  do  you  think  I  require  an  explanation  of 
Mis3  Churchiirs  interest  in — Egyptian  antiquities,  let 
us  say  ?     I  understand  it  perfectly." 

"  I  doubt  if  you  do,"  said  the  marchesa,  "  for  the 
reason  that  I  doubt  if  you  understand  her.^'^ 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  do  not  find  her  a 
very  complex  study.  The  key-note  to  the  character  of 
most  women  is  very  simple  ;  and  hers  is  not  an  excep- 
tion to  the  rule." 

"  And  what  do  you  call  that  key-note  ? " 


256  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  It  lias  various  names.  Love  of  power  is  one  of 
the  least  offensive." 

"  And  in  this  case  one  of  the  least  accnrate.  "What 
moves  her  is  not  love  of  power  or  love  of  homage,  but 
a  strong  desire  for  intellectual  sympathy.  If  you  are 
wise,  my  dear  Herbert,  you  will  offer  this." 

"  Then  I  must  fall  into  the  depths  of  unwisdom  in 
your  o23inion.  Certainly  I  can  not  offer  sympathy  in 
foolish  dreams  that  will  lead  to  more  foolish  achieve- 
ment. She  has  told  me  of  her  desires  and  ambitions — 
she  would  like  to  challenge  the  criticism  of  the  world, 
to  become  one  of  a  mob  of  commonplace  writers.  The 
idea  is  horrible." 

"  And  you  told  her  so  ? " 

"  I  told  her  that  her  gifts,  which  charm  now,  would 
then  lose  all  their  distinction.  They  would  become  the 
property  of  the  public,  they  would  be  taken  into  the 
market-place,  they  would  be  vulgarized  and  lose  all 
their  value  to  a  refined  and  fastidious  taste.  I  added 
that  no  one  with  a  true  sense  of  art  would  risk  imper- 
fect production ;  that  it  was  better  to  feel  the  possi- 
bility of  producing  great  things  than  to  be  forced  to 
realize  that  one  has  produced  small  ones." 

"  Altogether  you  must  have  been  as  encouraging  as 
possible !  K'o  wonder  she  is  rather  fond  of  talking  to 
Bernard  Lysle.  I  suppose  it  did  not  occur  to  you  that 
you  were  not  only  ruthlessly  crushing  all  her  aspira- 
tions, but  that  you  might  be  depriving  the  world  of  the 
utterances  of  genius — for  sometimes  I  think  there  is  a 
touch  of  absolute  genius  about  her." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  there  is ;  but  that  touch  of  genius, 
that  flicker  of  a  divine  flame,  I  want  for  my  own  life  : 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  257 

I  do  not  intend  to  share  it  with  the  world.  The  fine 
perception,  the  delicate  imagination  which  pleases  me^ 
shall  not  also  please  a  horde  of  vulgar  people.  I  would 
as  soon  convert  my  house,  with  all  its  carefully  guarded 
art  treasures,  into  a  public  museum." 

"  And  the  truth  is,"  said  the  inarchesa,  making  an 
Italian  gesture  with  her  hands,  "  that  she  is  no  more 
than  one  of  your  art  treasures — perhaps  their  crown, 
but  still,  like  them,  intended  to  find  her  end  of  being 
in  ministering  to  your  pleasure,  in  stirring  your  lan- 
guid sensations.  It  is  a  new  idea,  that  of  imprisoning 
for  your  benefit  a  stray  bit  of  genius.  But  I  call  it 
the  very  culmination  of  egotism." 

He  laughed  softly.  The  charge  did  not  seem  to  af- 
fect him  greatly. 

"  And  what  then  ? "  he  said,  lightly.  "  Egotism  is 
a  word  which  does  not  frighten  me.  Since  fortune  has 
given  me  the  means  of  gratifying  my  tastes,  why 
should  I  not  secure  for  my  own  benefit  a  stray  bit  of 
genius — your  term,  not  mine,  pray  remember! — as 
well  as  an  antique  statue  or  vase?  Why  should  not 
my  own  pleasure  be  more  of  an  object  with  me  than 
the  pleasure  of  an  unkno^vn  multitude  ? " 

She  looked  at  him  as  one  might  gaze  at  a  blank,  in- 
surmountable wall.  What  words  could  reach  such  self- 
ishness as  this,  what  argument  move  such  epicurean 
nonchalance  ? 

"  If  you  recognize  no  difference  between  the  one 
and  the  other,"  she  answered  at  length,  "  if  a  human 
soul,  with  all  its  aspiration,  its  passion,  its  force  of  feel- 
ing, is  no  more  to  you  than  a  statue  or  vase,  I  do  not 
know  that  I  can  prove  to  you  why  you  should  not 


258  -^JSS  CEURGEILL:   A  STUDY. 

monopolize  tlie  one  as  well  as  the  other  for  your  own 
pleasure.  I  am  not  learning  now  for  the  first  time 
that  there  is  little  to  be  said  to  one  wlio  makes  the 
gratification  of  his  tastes  the  law  of  his  life." 

"  There  is  this  to  be  said,"  was  the  reply,  "  that 
he  is  the  only  truly  wise  man.  Altruistic  arguments 
are  very  fine,  but  they  can  never  convince  one  w^ho 
has  looked  on  life  without  any  softening  of  illusion, 
who  has  learned  that  while  it  may  be  possible  to  gratify 
one's  self,  it  is  never  possible  to  gratify  others,  no 
matter  how  far  one  miay  go  in  the  folly  of  serving 
them.  And  I,"  he  added,  calmly,  "  have  no  intention 
of  going  any  length  at  all  in  such  folly.  Human 
nature  is  of  value  in  my  eyes  only  in  so  far  as  it  can 
minister  to  my  comfort  and  pleasure." 

The  marchesa  did  not  answer.  Too  much  a  woman 
of  the  world  not  to  be  familiar  with  such  cvnical  selfish- 
ness  when  displayed  in  conduct,  she  was  not  so  familiar 
with  its  frank  avowal  in  words,  and  it  chilled  her  like 
an  icy  touch.  She  looked  toward  the  bank  where  Cecil 
had  disappeared,  and  thought  of  the  warm,  passionate 
life  which  had  surrendered  itself  to  this  cold  egotism. 
A  memory  of  Lysle's  strong-hearted  sacrifice  occurred 
to  her.  Was  it  indeed  true  that  only  the  selfish  w^re 
wise?  It  was  a  moment  of  discouragement  such  as 
even  the  generous  know,  and  the  river  filled  it  with  its 
solemn,  unceasing  murmur — the  murmur  which  seemed 
fraught  with  all  the  sadness  and  mystery  of  life. 

Meanwhile,  Cecil  and  Lysle  having  passed  through 
the  modern  town  of  Luxor,  were  standing  among  the 
ancient  temples,  by  the  side  of  the  famous  obelisk  (com- 
panion to  that  of  Paris),  and  in  the  shadow  of  the  noble 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  259 

gateway  towers  which  still  speak  with  mute  eloquence 
of  the  splendor  of  the  courts  to  which  they  led. 

"  What  a  mushroom  thing  the  civilization  of  our 
age  is,  when  compared  to  that  which  erected  such 
monuments  as  these ! "  said  Lysle,  looking  up  medita- 
tively at  the  massive  outlines,  and  the  stone  which 
seemed  alive  with  the  shock  of  the  warring  squadrons 
carved  in  bold  relief  upon  it.  "  After  three  thousand 
years  what  fragment  of  our  work  will  remain  to  speak 
of  us  to  posterity  ?  But  perhaps  it  is  as  well  that  none 
should  remain — else  what  would  be  thought  of  our  con- 
ceptions of  art  ?  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  future  genera- 
tions will  kindlv  take  us  at  our  own  estimate  of  our- 
selves,  as  expressed  in  the  writings  which  no  doubt  will 
survive." 

"  Yes,  man's  tliought  lasts  longer  than  man's  deed," 
said  Cecil.  "Some  day  all  that  remains  of  the  glory  of 
Thebes  will  be  buried  in  the  desert  sand ;  but  the 
records  carved  on  her  walls  will  have  passed  imperish- 
ably  into  the  history  of  the  world." 

"  I  suppose  one  hardly  needs  a  fresh  proof  that  the 
mind  is  the  immortal  part  of  man,"  said  Lysle.  "Won- 
derful minds,  too,  they  must  have  had,  those  old  Egyp- 
tians— the  masters  of  Moses  and  of  Plato." 

"  Should  you  not  like  to  meet  one  of  the  priests  of 
these  temples  ? "  said  Cecil.  "  If  we  only  knew  enough 
of  the  old  magic  of  Egypt  to  summon  one ! " 

"  And  could  be  quite  sure  that  we  should  under- 
stand the  language  in  which  he  would  speak  after  being 
summoned.  Shall  we  go  over  to  Kamak  and  try  what 
we  can  do  when  the  moon  rises  ? " 

Cecil  looked  wistfully  across  the  fields,  green  with 


2G0  J^I'SS  CnURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

freshly  springing  wheat,  toward  the  solemn  ruins  of 
Karnak  and  the  Arabian  hills  over  which  the  moon 
would  shortly  appear. 

"I  should  like  to  go,"  she  said.  "Is  it  not  pos- 
sible ? " 

"  Well — hardly,  I  am  afraid,"  answered  Lysle,  re- 
luctantly. "  The  marchesa  would  not  consent,  and  Dor- 
rian  would  certainly  vote  the  expedition  an  absurdity." 

Her  face  changed,  hardened,  grew  cold.  "  Would 
that  matter?"  she  asked.  "Mr.  Dorrian's  opinion,  I 
mean.  He  thinks  everything  an  absurdity  wdiich  is  not 
done  with  special  reference  to  his  taste." 

"  Oh,  we  all  begin  by  fancying  that  the  world  is 
arranged  for  our  particular  benefit,"  said  Lysle,  care- 
lessly, "  and  Dorrian  has  never  passed  beyond  that 
stage.  It  is  natural  enough,  I  suppose.  We  must 
allow  something  to  a  man  to  whom  Fortune  has  been 
so  consistently  kind." 

"  I  am  beo^innino^  to  doubt  whether  Fortune  is  most 
kind  when  she  showers  her  favors  with  a  lavish  hand," 
said  Cecil.  "  A  spoiled  child  is  not  a  pleasant  type — 
and  many  people  are  spoiled  children  of  prosperity." 

"  We  may  afford  to  be  patient  wdth  them,  for,  sooner 
or  later,  life  teaches  them  a  lesson,  which  is  harder  to 
bear  from  its  delay,"  said  Lysle.  He  moved  suddenly 
away,  as  if  from  the  subject,  and  paused  by  the  great 
mutilated  statue  of  Rameses  II.  "  He  might  have 
something  very  instructive  to  tell  us  about  the  effects 
of  human  prosperity  and  greatness,  if  he  could  only 
open  those  silent  lips,"  he  said.  "  But  after  all,  it  does 
not  matter  what  Fortune  has  given  or  withheld — when 
one  is  dead." 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  261 

"  But  it  matters  when  one  is  7iot  dead,"  said  Cecil. 
She  spoke  with  sndden  passion.  "All  the  more,  be- 
cause life  is  so  brief,  and  in  the  main  so  unsatisfactory, 
does  one  want  to  secure  what  good  one  can.  You 
may  call  me  an  epicurean,  if  yon  like,  Mr.  Lysle — and, 
whether  you  call  me  so  or  not,  I  know  that  you  think 
me  one — but  I  do  want  to  secure  and  to  enjoy  the  best 
of  life  while  it  is  mine." 

There  was  something  of  compassion  in  Lysle's 
glance  as  he  turned  it  on  her.  "  If  I  call  you  an  epi- 
curean," he  said,  "  it  is  not,  believe  me,  in  an  offensive 
sense.  The  artistic  temperament  is  always  more  or  less 
epicurean.  Its  strongest  longing  is  toward  things  beau- 
tiful and  harmonious,  toward  grasping  and  enjoying  the 
fullness  of  life.  I  realize  and  understand  this.  I  think 
that  I  understand  you  ;  I  hope  that  I  have  never  done 
you  any  injustice." 

"  But  you  believe  that  I  have  made  a  great  mistake." 

He  made  a  quick  gesture.  "]^o.  Forgive  me,  I 
could  not  venture  to  decide  that  —  and  I  should  be 
sorry  to  believe  it.  But  it  is  growing  late.  Shall  we 
not  return  to  the  dahabeah  f  " 

She  assented,  rising  slowly  from  the  fallen  frag- 
ment of  stone  on  which  she  had  been  seated,  but  lino:er- 
ing  to  cast  another  wistful  glance  over  the  plain  toward 
Karnak. 

"  To-morrow  we  go  there,"  she  said.    "  And  then — " 

"  Then  you  will  return  to  Cairo,  and  I  shall  con- 
tinue up  the  river." 

"  Why  should  you  send  us  back  ?  "  she  said.  "  Why 
should  we  not  take  you  at  least  as  far  as  the  cataract  ? " 

"Because,  although  everything  seems  so  safe  and 


2G2  J^ISS  CEURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

tranquil,  tliere  might  be  Arab  incursions  from  the  des- 
ert. It  is  possible — and  I  can  not  consent  that  even  a 
possibility  of  danger  should  be  incurred  in  order  to 
take  me  to  the  cataract." 

"  But  if  we — if  I  wish  to  go  on  ? " 

"  You  do  well  to  amend  your  phrase.  You  are 
alone,  I  think,  in  wishing  to  go  on.  Even  the  marchesa 
would  prefer  to  turn  her  face  toward  Cairo.  And,  in- 
deed, it  is  not  a  matter  open  to  discussion.  I  must  go 
alone." 

His  tone  was  so  decided  that  she  did  not  answer, 
and  they  walked  silently  back  toward  the  river-bank, 
where  the  palms  seemed  washed  in  gold  by  the  last 
rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and  the  rosy  light  with  which 
all  [N^ature  glowed  and  trembled  was  reflected  in  the 
broad  and  shining  current. 


CHAPTEE  YI. 

AppROAciiixa  Karnak  from  Luxor  by  the  long  ave- 
nue bordered  by  mutilated  fragments  of  what  were 
once  sphinxes — those  sacred,  mysterious  figures  evolved 
from  the  imagination  of  ancient  Egypt,  and  which  even 
to  the  modern  mind  convey  irresistibly  their  emble- 
matic idea  of  the  union  of  wisdom  and  power — the 
party  of  travelers  reached  the  noble  pylon,  or  gateway, 
which  leads  to  the  vast  ruins  of  the  temples.  The  ma- 
jestic simplicity  of  its  colossal  proportions,  and  the 
beautiful  relief  of  its  cornice,  give  it  a  peculiarly  strik- 
ing effect,  as  it  stands  erect  and  lonely  amid  the  wrecks 
of  an  elder  world,  the  most  perfect  specimen  of  Egyp- 
tian architecture  remaining. 

"  It  belongs  to  the  Ptolemaic  era,  you  know,"  said 
Lysle,  w^hen  the  marchesa  observed  how  fortunate  it 
was  that  one  such  fragment  remained  to  speak  of  the 
glory  of  the  past.  "  But  it  has  all  the  distinctive  feat- 
ures of  Egyptian  architecture — its  massiveness,  its  maj- 
esty, and  its  imposing  symbolism.  One  does  not  ob- 
serve here  what  is  apparent  in  later  Ptolemaic  art,  the 
influence  of  the  Greek  spirit." 

"  I  should  not  care  for  the  Greek  spirit  in  Egypt," 
said  Cecil.     "  I  prefer  the  art  which  is  bom  of  the  soil. 


2G4  MISS  CEURCniLL:    A   STUDY. 

Tliese  vast  temples  with  their  simplicity  and  their  so- 
lemnity, the  colossal  statues  with  their  countenances 
half  Asiatic  and  lialf  African,  and  their  impression  of 
infinite  benignant  force,  suit  this  ancient  land  of  the 
Nile,  the  home  of  mvsterious  wisdom." 

"  It  would  be  difficult  to  mingle  the  Greek  spirit 
successfully  with  such  an  art  as  this,"  said  Dorrian. 
"  The  gloomy  sublimity  which  is  its  chief  characteris- 
tic has  nothing  in  common  with  the  divine  harmony 
and  grace  of  Greek  beauty.  Miss  Churchill  is  right, 
however — this  is  most  appropriate  here." 

"  And  most  interesting  because  most  ancient,"  said 
Lysle ;  "  but  when  you  see  the  temples  of  Phil«,  you 
will  perceive  how  the  Greek  spirit  successfully  mingled 
with  the  Egyptian  and  rendered  it  more  graceful." 

"  But  we  are  not  going  to  Philge,"  said  Cecil,  with  a 
tone  of  reproach. 

"Not  now,"  answered  Lysle;  "but  Mr.  Dorrian 
may  care  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  the  Nile  at 
another  time." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Dorrian,  carelessly.  "I  like  the 
mode  of  travel,  I  confess." 

"  I  wonder  you  never  came  before,"  said  the  mar- 
chesa,  "just  as  I  wonder  why  7" never  came  before." 

"As  far  as  I  am  concerned  the  reason  is  very  sim- 
ple," said  Dorrian.  "  It  has  been  vulgarized  into  such 
a  cockney  route  of  travel.  Just  now  it  is  bearable 
because  fears  of  disturbance  have  frightened  tourists 
away.  But  fancy  it  swarming  with  all  the  hordes  of 
Cook  !  Forty  or  fifty  years  ago  the  ascent  of  the  Nile 
may  have  been  an  agreeable  adventure  ;  but  now — " 

"Now  we  still  find  the  river,  the  ruins,  and  the 


TEE  SEADOW  OF  TEE  PALMS.  265 

desert,"  said  the  marcliesa ;  "and  these  are  things  likely 
to  survive  many  generations  of  tourists." 

"  Of  all  famous  travelers,"  said  Ljsle,  "  I  think  that, 
while  I  am  here  at  least,  I  envy  most  Hecat^us — the 
only  person  of  whom  we  have  any  knowledge  who  ever 
saw  and  compared  the  Temple  of  the  Sun  in  Thebes 
with  the  Druidical  temple  of  the  same  god  at  Stone- 
henge,  before  ruin  had  touched  either.  He  was  a 
most  appreciative  traveler,  too.  It  is  owing  to  his  care- 
ful measurements  of  the  great  palace  of  Hameses  II, 
that  modern  research  has  been  able  to  identify  it." 

"  He  may  have  been  a  very  interesting  person,"  said 
Dorrian.  "  An  officer  of  the  army  of  Alexander,  he 
must  have  seen  all  the  wonders  of  the  conquered  East 
before  he  joined  himself  to  Ptolemy  and  visited  Upper 
Egypt.  One  might  have  listened  to  him  with  pleasure, 
if  he  did  not  bore  one  with  too  long  tales — a  weakness 
of  travelei's." 

"Do  you  remember,"  said  Lysle,  "how  ho  relates 
that  when  he  boasted  of  being  sixteenth  in  descent 
from  Jupiter,  the  Theban  priests  showed  him  the  mum- 
my-cases of  their  predecessors  standing  around  the  walls 
of  the  temples,  to  the  number  of  three  hundred  and 
forty-five,  and  told  him  that  each  of  those  priests  had 
ruled  Thebes  in  succession  from  father  to  son,  and  it 
was  that  number  of  generations  since  the  gods  Osiris 
and  Horus  had  reigned  in  Egypt  ?  " 

"  If  that  were  true,"  said  Cecil,  "  I  don't  mean  about 
the  gods,  but  about  the  three  hundred  and  forty-five  gen- 
erations— what  fabulous  antiquity  it  gave  to  Egypt!" 

"  Fabulous  indeed,  I  fancy,"  said  the  marchesa, 
"although  we  know  that  Egypt  was  a  highly  civilized 
23 


266  ^ISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

nation  when  Abraham  entered  it.  But  shall  we  not  go 
on  to  the  great  temple  now  ?  " 

They  wandered  on,  and  for  several  hours  were  ab- 
sorbed in  exploring  the  immense  wilderness  of  ruins,  of 
temples,  courts,  propylae,  gateways  and  obelisks  which 
cover  the  plain  in  masses  of  bewildering  grandeur. 
The  spell  of  the  past  fell  upon  them  all,  and  Cecil  was 
not  alone  in  forgetting  the  lapse  of  time  and  even  nat- 
ural fatigue,  as  they  passed  from  one  great  monument 
of  a  dead  faith  and  a  mighty  civilization  to  another. 

The  westering  light  was  already  long  when,  after 
many  explorations,  they  finally  returned  to  the  Great 
Hall.  Shadows  were  creeping  through  the  deep  re- 
cesses of  its  ruins,  but  a  glow  of  sunset  still  rested  on 
the  beautiful  flower-shaped  capitals  of  the  immense  col- 
umns. "  It  is  Hke  a  fantastic  dream ! "  said  the  mar- 
chesa,  as  they  slowly  paced  down  the  central  avenue, 
while  on  each  side  pillars,  obelisks,  and  sculptured  walls 
formed  vast  arcades  which  stretched  away  into  remote 
distance. 

"  This  was  the  heart  of  Thebes,"  said  Lysle.  "  If 
you  observe,  everything  seems  to  radiate  from  here. 
Fancy  the  splendor  of  this  hall  with  its  hundred  and 
thirty  columns,  its  superb  painted  roof,  and  its  courts 
thronged  with  priests  and  worshipers,  when  Rameses 
entered  it  in  triumph  after  his  Oriental  conquests  !  " 

"  Should  you  not  have  liked  to  witness  the  scene  ? " 
said  Cecil.  She  paused  and  stood,  looking  down  the 
great  vista  as  if  she  saw  it,  while  the  others  walked  on. 
Lysle  glanced  at  her,  and  when  the  marchesa  presently 
stopped  to  examine  a  sculptured  entablature,  he  walked 
back. 


TEE  SEADOW  OF  TEE  PALMS,  267 

"  Are  you  tired  ? ''  lie  asked.  "  ^ould  jou  like  to 
rest  ? " 

"  I  am  not  tired,"  she  answered ;  "  at  least  I  have 
not  thought  whether  I  am  or  not ;  but  I  should  like,  if 
there  were  time,  to  remain  here  for  a  short  while  and 
watch  the  effects  of  the  changing  light  in  this  wonder- 
ful place." 

"  AYell,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  hesitation — a  mo- 
ment in  which  he  told  himself  that  this  was  the  last 
pleasure  it  might  ever  be  in  his  power  to  afford  her, 
and  so  he  would  not  refuse  it — "  wh-y  should  you  not  ? 
Sit  down,  while  I  go  and  tell  the  others  to  ride  slowly 
back  to  Luxor  and  we  will  follow  presently." 

He  went  before  she  could  answer ;  and  she  watched 
his  slight,  dark  figure  vanishing  among  the  columns — 
for  the  others  had  now  walked  on — with  a  sinking  of 
the  heart  which  surprised  her.  It  was  suddenly  borne 
upon  her  with  vivid  force,  how  soon  that  figure  would 
pass  out  of  her  life,  as  it  now  passed  from  her  sight, 
and,  in  realizing  this,  she  also  realized  all  that  its  ab- 
sence would  mean.  She  sank  on  a  fallen  block  of  stone 
and  turned  her  face  upward.  A  red  light  was  still 
shining  on  the  beautiful  foliated  capitals  of  the  pillars, 
while  a  solemn  obscuritj^  brooded  among  the  vast  ruins 
spread  around.  A  sense  of  hopelessness  and  failure,  a 
horrible  distaste  of  life,  seemed  to  overwhelm  her.  She 
had  been  long  familiar  with  such  feelings— at  times 
especially,  they  had  made  existence  almost  unbearable 
— but  never  had  they  pressed  upon  her  with  so  great  a 
weight  as  in  the  silence  of  this  vast  Egyptian  temple. 
She  suddenly  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  What  had 
she  done  with  her  life,  what  would  she  ever  do  with  it, 


268  ^JSS  CHURCniLL:    A  STUDY. 

what  value  did  it  have  in  tlie  past,  the  present,  or  the 
future  ?  A  sound  passed  her  lips  which  was  something 
between  a  sigh  and  a  groan. 

'^  I  knew  that  you  were  tired  !  "  said  Ljsle's  voice, 
suddenly  speaking  at  her  side  in  a  tone  of  solicitude. 
"  I  am  afraid  that  you  are  overdone  entirely." 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said,  looking  up  with  a  faint  smile. 
"  I  am  really  not  tired — that  is,  not  tired  of  anything  I 
have  done  to-day.  But  I  am  tired  to  death  of  myself 
— if  you  know  what  that  is !  " 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  Lysle  answered,  ^'but  I 
think  that  in  this  case  the  mental  state  is  produced  by 
the  physical  one.     We  have  tried  to  do  too  much ! " 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  very  much 
mistaken.  I  wanted  to  do  it  all,  and  I  am  not  tired  in 
a  physical  sense.     Are  the  others  gone  ? " 

"  They  soon  will  be.  I  told  them  to  ride  slowly, 
and  we  would  probably  overtake  them  before  they 
reached  Luxor." 

"That  means  that  I  have  only  a  few  minutes  to 
linger  in  this  place  of  enchantment.  I  am  sorry.  I 
should  like  to  stay  for  a  long  time — especially  at  this 
hour." 

"  We  will  stay  as  long  as  you  like,"  said  Lysle.  "  I 
only  thought  you  might  wish  to  rejoin  the  marchesa." 

She  shook  her  head,  but  did  not  answer  otherwise — 
and  for  a  moment  they  were  silent,  watching  together 
the  beautiful  rose-red  light  fade  from  the  summits  of 
the  lofty  pillars.  It  was  indeed  a  scene  and  an  hour  in 
which  to  linger.  As  dusky  shadows  crept  among  the 
vast  avenues  their  extent  seemed  absolutely  illimitable, 
while  the  great  walls  and  towering  obelisks  assumed 


TEE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  289 

proportions  even  more  gigantic  than  bj  the  light  of 
day.  From  where  they  sat,  there  was  a  view  of  the 
great  propjlon  which  formed  the  chief  entrance  to  the 
temple,  and  its  immense  opening  framed  an  exquisite 
picture  of  the  outstretched  plain  with  its  groves  of 
palms,  the  silver  river  flowing  through  it,  and  the  dis- 
tant Libyan  hills  perforated  with  countless  tombs,  above 
which  the  crimson  fires  of  sunset  burned. 

To  Lysle  as  wxll  as  to  Cecil  the  sense  of  impending 
parting  may  have  added  to  the  deep  pathos  of  the 
scene.     After  a  silence  of  some  length,  he  said,  slowly : 

"  We  have  seen  many  sunsets  together,  and,  if  this 
is  the  last,  at  least  we  could  ask  no  nobler  setting 
for  it." 

"  Why  should  you  think  it  the  last  ? "  she  demanded, 
sharply,  as  if  in  protest.  ''Why  should  we  not  see 
many  more  together  ? " 

He  turned  toward  her,  and  even  through  the  gloom 
she  felt  the  dark  tire  of  his  glance. 

"  Because,"  he  answered,  "  the  end  has  come.  Even 
if  I  return  from  the  desert — and  I  am  not  at  all  blind 
to  the  dangers  which  await  me  there — I  do  not  think 
I  shall  ever  see  you  again.  Certainly  not  with  my 
will." 

She  caught  her  breath  with  a  quick,  gasping  sound. 
"  YvTiy  should  you  say  that  1 "  she  asked.  "  Have  you 
come  at  last  to  despise  me  ?  " 

''  Despise  you  I "  he  repeated.  "  What  reason  have 
I  ever  given  you  to  ask  such  a  question  ?  Have  I  not 
believed  in  you  when  you  did  not  believe  in  yourself, 
have  I  not  recognized  you  when  others  were  blind, 
have  I  not  admired — "     He  broke  off  abruptly,  then, 


270  J^J'SS  CHURCniLL:    A  STUDY. 

after  a  moment  added,  in  a  lower  tone  :  "  Do  not  force 
me  to  say  all  that  I  have  felt  for  you.  I  should  only 
offend  you ;  and  to  be  disbelieved  once  is  enough." 

"Did  I  disbelieve  you?"  she  said,  in  a  tone  even 
lower  than  his  own.  "I  beg  your  pardon.  I  have 
long  wanted  to  beg  your  pardon.  I  think  I  was  out  of 
my  senses  on  that  day  and  for  many  days  afterward. 
It  is  only  lately  that  I  have  recovered  them  ;  that  I 
have  recognized  how  right  you  were  in  your  judgment, 
and  how  I  have  marred  the  possibilities  of  my  life.  I 
asked  you  a  moment  ago  if  you  despised  me.  You 
would  have  a  right  to  do  so,  for  I  despise  myseK. 
And  from  this  self-contempt  I  see  no  road  of  escape. 
Whether  I  fulfill  my  bond  or  whether  I  break  it,  I  am 
equally  unworthy,  equally  weak.  I  must  equally  bear 
the  burden  of  knowing  myself  to  be  a  far  poorer 
creature  than  I  ever  dreamed  in  my  old,  proud,  confi- 
dent days." 

"  Will  it  help  you  to  overcome  your  self -contempt 
to  know  that  I  have  never  misunderstood,  never  for 
one  moment  despised  you  1 "  asked  Lysle,  gently.  "  I 
have  always  comprehended  how  you  were  dazzled,  how 
you  mistook  your  own  needs.  The  artistic  nature  is  so 
many-sided,  it  has  so  many  needs,  it  can  not  be  satisfied 
like  an  ordinarv  nature  with  a  little  of  the  world — a 
little  happiness,  a  little  knowledge,  a  narrow  experience 
— it  desires  to  possess  life  in  its  fullness.  Hence  arise 
what  are  called  the  vagaries  of  genius,  and  the  incon- 
stancy with  which  it  is  often  charged.  I  recognized 
all  this  when  I  knew  you  first.  It  did  not  need  your 
own  warning  or  that  of  your  brother  to  convince  me 
that  it  would  be  a  fatal  mistake  to  lay  a  fetter  upon 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  271 

YOiir  life.  If  there  was  ever  a  moment  in  wliicli  you 
might  have  been  tempted,  through  ignorance,  to  accept 
such  a  fetter,  I  am  glad  that  I  was  strong  enough  to 
refrain  from  placing  it  upon  you.  To  see  you  chafing 
against  the  claim  of  another  man  is  hard  enough.  I 
could  not  live  and  know  you  chafing  against  mine." 

She  was  mute.  How  could  she  say,  "I  have  learned 
that  I  should  not  chafe  against  yours "  !  From  some 
words  a  woman's  lips  are  sealed,  even  if — as  in  this 
case — loyalty  to  the  man  whose  claim  still  bound  her 
had  not  forbidden  them.  A  sense  of  passionate,  im- 
potent pain  possessed  her.  She  looked  at  the  great 
cornice  of  the  wall  before  her.  Should  she  ever  forget 
how  its  massive  lines  cut  against  the  sky,  and  how  at 
that  moment  it  seemed  an  embodiment  of  the  weight 
upon  her  heart  ? 

"  You  are  kind — you  are  more  than  kind  in  tiying 
to  excuse  my  folly,"  she  said  at  length,  "  but  I  feel 
nothing  save  the  greatness — and  the  littleness — of  my 
mistake.  I  have  no  longer  any  faith  in  myself :  every- 
thing in  life  has  grown  hateful  to  me." 

"To  that,"  he  answered,  "I  have  one  word  to  re- 
ply— patience.     This  state  will  pass." 

"  Into  what  ?  "  she  asked,  wearily.  "  Not  that  it 
matters.  The  deadly  indifference  to  all  things,  the 
sudden  running  down  of  all  the  springs  of  energy, 
which  I  have  felt  at  times  during  the  whole  of  my  life, 
has  overpowered  me  of  late.  I  almost  think  I  will  go 
back  and  sit  down  once  more  among  the  pines." 

Lysle  shook  his  head,  "i^o,"  he  said,  "you  will 
never  do  that.  You  mistake  in  imagining  that  it  would 
be  possible.     You  must  fight  your  way  back  to  faith  in 


272  M/SS  C3URCHILL:    A  STUDY, 

yourself,  and  faith  in  your  own  capabilities,  in  the  world 
where  your  future  will  lie." 

"  If  I  have  any  future,  I  can  not  rouse  the  faintest 
interest  in  it,"  she  said.  "  It  seems  to  me  just  now  as 
empty  as  these  ruins." 

What  could  Lysle  answer?  He,  too,  remembered 
the  bond  upon  her  life — the  bond  formed  by  her  own 
will.  It  fettered  him  as  well  as  her — making  such 
words  as  he  might  have  spoken  impossible  in  honor. 
Yet,  even  if  she  were  free,  why  should  he  utter  these 
words  ?  She  had  once  put  his  devotion  aside  with  in- 
credulity— would  it  be  likely  to  wdn  more  regard  from 
her  now  ?  He  said  to  himself  that  it  was  not  likely, 
that  he  knew  her  too  well  to  mistake  the  meaning  of 
her  utterances,  and  that  the  only  service  which  he 
might  render  her  was  the  service  of  what  poor  words 
of  sympathy  he  could  speak  in  these  few  minutes  al- 
lowed to  them. 

"  It  will  not  remain  empty,"  he  said,  when  he  could 
presently  command  his  usual  tone  of  quietness.  "  Your 
nature  is  too  rich  in  possibilities,  too  full  and  strong, 
for  such  a  state  to  be  more  than  temporary,  unless — " 

He  paused,  with  a  sudden  drop  in  his  voice  which 
made  her  look  at  him  and  say,  "Unless^ — what?" 

"  Unless  the  life  which  you  elect  to  lead  is  a  con- 
tinual violence  to  your  nature,"  he  answered.  "Do 
not  ask  me  to  say  more." 

There  was  silence  for  several  minutes,  and  then  she 
rose  to  her  feet  with  a  gesture  as  of  one  who  throws 
off  a  fetter. 

"  I  will  not  lead  such  a  life ! "  she  said  in  a  low, 
thrilling  voice.     "  Let  the  result  be  what  it  will  of  hu- 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  273 

miliation,  I  will  bo  free  once  more  !  One  wlio  breaks 
a  plighted  faith  has  always  seemed  to  me  the  most 
despicable  of  human  beings  ;  but  it  is  my  punishment 
that  I  must  fall  even  lower  than  I  have  fallen  already 
in  my  own  esteem.  And  I  am  ready  to  pay  even  that 
price  for  freedom  !  " 

Lysle's  heart  gave  a  great  bound.  At  that  moment 
he  felt  two  things  with  equal  force — one  was  relief  at 
this  resolution,  the  other  a  deep  consciousness  that  it 
might  have  been  himself  and  not  Dorrian  from  whom, 
in  extremity  of  unhappiness,  she  might  have  had  to  de- 
mand her  freedom.  "  Thank  God,  I  had  strength  to 
avoid  that ! "  was  his  inmost  thought  as  he,  too,  rose  and 
stood  beside  her. 

"  This  is  a  point  of  whicli  no  one  but  yourself  can 
judge,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  Only  believe  that  I  shall  re- 
joice in  anything  which  is  for  your  happiness.  Wher- 
ever I  am,  I  must  desire  that  above  all  things ;  and 
there  is  nothing  which  I  would  not  do  to  secure  it — 
if  anything  were  in  ray  power." 

In  the  dusky  twilight  which  enwrapped  them,  he 
could  not  see  more  than  the  indistinct  outlines  of  lier 
face,  else  perhaps  there  might  have  been  some  flash  of 
expression  to  tell  him  that  more  than  he  imagined  was 
in  his  power.  The  dead  gods  and  heroes  of  Egypt 
looking  down  upon  them  were  not  more  dumb  than 
she  felt  herself.  This,  too,  was  part  of  her  punishment, 
that  honor  and  pride  sealed  her  hps ;  that  she  could 
not  even  hold  out  her  hand  to  the  man  whom  she  had 
learned  to  know  too  late. 

By  this  time  the  moon  was  hanging  full  and  golden 
over  the  Arabian  hills,  and  her  magic  light  was  touch- 


274  MISS  CHURCniLL:   A  STUDY. 

ing  tlie  columns,  the  obelisks,  and  long  lines  of  wall 
from  which  the  glow  of  sunset  had  so  lately  departed. 
In  a  little  while  it  would  reign  supreme  over  Karnak, 
casting  floods  of  silver  upon  sculptures  where  the 
achievements  of  ancient  kings  were  carved  in  high 
relief,  upon  the  avenues  of  stately  columns,  the  massive 
towers  and  heaps  of  mins,  but  as  yet  its  whitening 
beams  shone  only  upon  the  capitals  and  cornices,  while 
deep  shadow  still  reigned  below. 

Out  of  this  shadow  came  a  long,  tremulous  sigh  as 
Cecil  presently  said  ;  "  Is  it  not  time  that  we  should  re- 
turn ?  I  know  that  yon  are  staying  to  gratify  me,  but 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  unreasonable ;  and — I  shall  never 
forget  this  hour  in  Karnak." 

"JSTor  I,"  he  said,  as  they  turned  and  slowly  moved 
away — two  silent  figures  through  the  silence  and  solemn 
gloom  of  the  vast,  deserted  temple. 


CHAPTEE  YII. 

"I  AM  inclined  to  tliink  that  Bernard  was  right  in 
his  parting  advice,"  said  the  marchesa,  meditatively. 

Miss  Churchill,  whom  she  seemed  to  address,  looked 
np  from  the  cushions  of  the  divan  on  which  she  lay. 
"  My  experience  has  been  that  Mr.  Lysle  is  generally 
right,"  she  said.  "  What  was  the  advice  to  which  you 
allude  ? " 

"  That  we  should  leave  the  dahabeah  at  Assiout, 
and  take  the  railway  to  Cairo.  He  said  that  we  would 
find  the  descent  of  the  river  tedious." 

"And  he  was  correct — it  is  tedious,"  said  Cecil. 
^'  Speaking  for  myself,  my  interest  in  it  is  exhausted. 
I  have  seen  all  the  palms,  all  the  ruins,  all  the  Arab 
villages  I  care  to  see.  Everything  is  now  like  a  twice- 
told  tale.     Let  us  take  the  railway  by  all  means." 

The  marchesa  smiled.  "  I  felt  sure  that  would  be 
your  wish,"  she  said.  "  And,  indeed,  it  is  mine — not 
because  I  weary  as  much  as  you  do  of  what  has  become 
familiar,  but  because,  as  long  as  we  are  in  this  boat,  I 
shall  miss  Bernard  so  dreadfully." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Cecil.  She  turned  away  her  face  and 
looked  at  the  shore,  seeing  vaguely  the  plumy  boughs 
of  palms  outlined  against  the  purple  sky,  a  string  of 
laden  camels  slowly  pacing  along  the  river-bank,  the 


276  ^TSS  CHUT. CHILL  :    A  STUDY. 

vivid  green  of  tlie  outstretclied  valley,  and  afar  the 
yellow  sands  of  the  desert.  She  felt  a  sudden,  passion- 
ate loathing  of  the  whole  picture,  identified  as  it  was 
with  the  new  and  bitter  pain  that  had  entered  her  life. 

"  One  does  miss  Mr.  Lysle,"  she  said,  quietly,  after  a 
moment ;  "  but  I  should  not  consider  that  a  reason  for 
abandoning  the  boat — else  one  might  have  to  abandon 
many  other  things  in  turn.  But  why  should  we  linger 
over  scenes  which  none  of  us  care  for  now  'i " 

"  Why,  indeed  ?  "  replied  the  marchesa.  "  So  we 
will  take  the  railway  when  we  reach  Assiout — which 
will  be  to-morrow,  Ahmed  says." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Cecil,  after  a  slio:.'t  silence,  "  that 
Mr.  Dorrian  will  not  object." 

"  It  is  not  likely,"  said  the  marchesa,  "  but  here  he 
comes  to  speak  for  himself." 

Dorrian,  indeed,  made  his  appearance  at  the  moment, 
languidly  ascending  from  the  lower  to  the  upper  deck 
where  the  two  ladies  were  seated,  and  where  the  drago- 
man was  at  the  moment  arranging  a  table  for  after- 
noon tea.  When  the  idea  of  leaving  the  bout  at  Assi- 
out was  proposed  to  him,  he  gave  it  at  once  unqualified 
approval. 

"  So  lone;  as  we  were  advancino:  from  the  less  inter- 
esting  to  the  more  interesting,"  he  said,  "  the  voyage 
was  tolerable  ;  but  when  those  conditions  are  reversed, 
it  becomes  monotonous  and  wearying.  The  sooner, 
therefore,  it  is  ended,  the  better." 

"  Then  we  are  all  agreed,"  said  the  marchesa,  "  and 
at  Assiout  our  Nile- voyage  will  end." 

Was  it  because  it  was  to  end  so  soon  that  the  even- 
ing which  followed  seemed  to  Cecil  one  of  the  most 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALjLS.  27T 

beautiful  of  all  their  floating  experience?  The  sun. 
went  down  with  unusual  splendor,  his  last  level  rays 
burnishing  with  gold  the  palm-groves  which  lined  the 
river's  brink,  the  emerald  expanse  of  the  valley,  and 
the  bold  cliffs  which  came  down  to  the  river  on  the 
Arabian  side.  The  full,  solemn  flow  of  the  current, 
the  fragrance  borne  from  the  shore,  the  stillness  of  the 
hour,  and  the  intense  tranquillity  of  the  broad  Egyptian 
sky,  made  the  twilight  an  interval  of  enchantment. 
The  radiance  under  which  all  l^ature  glowed  and  trem- 
bled was  short-lived,  however :  darkness  fell,  and  the 
stars  suddenly  burst  into  resplendent  luster,  casting  on 
the  still  river  reflections  so  brilliant  that  the  boat 
seemed  to  glide  through  liquid  space  studded  with  its 
throbbing  worlds. 

Cecil  was  standing  by  the  rail  of  the  deck,  looking 
into  the  strange,  silent  beauty  of  the  night  and  watch- 
ing for  the  moonrise  over  the  Arabian  hills,  when  Dor- 
rian  came  to  her  side.  Perhaps  it  was  because  her 
thoughts  had  been  following  Lysle  on  his  lonely  jour- 
ney up  the  river,  that  she  started  and  shrank  a  little. 
Through  the  darkness,  Dorrian  perceived  the  move- 
ment. 

"  I  disturb  you,"  he  said,  ceremoniouely.  "  Pardon 
me." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  answered,  hurriedly,  as  lie  seenaed 
about  to  \\ithdraw,  "you  do  not  disturb — you  only 
startled  me.    What  a  wonderfully  beautiful  night  it  is  ! " 

"  Yery  beautiful,"  he  replied,  pausing.  "  There  is 
a  charm  in  this  Egyptian  air  which  is  quite  indescrib- 
able.    Yet  I  am  not  sorry  that  our  voyage  is  nearly 

ended." 

24 


278  ^I'SS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  Sorry — no.  ^Vhy  should  one  be  sorrj  ? "  said 
Cecil,  as  if  to  herself.  *'I  am  glad."  Then  she  looked 
up  at  him  with  a  sudden  impulsive  resolve.  "  I  have 
been  thinking,"  she  said,  "that  perhaps  it  would  be 
well  if  other  things  ended  with  the  voyage." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dorrian.  He  knew  in  an  instant  vrhat 
she  meant,  and  a  sense  of  unpleasant  shock  vibrated 
through  him.  jSTevertheless,  he  was  determined  that 
the  full  burden  of  explanation  should  fall  upon  her. 
"  There  are  a  good  many  things  that  I  hope  will  end 
with  the  voyage,"  he  said,  in  his  low,  indolent  voice. 
"  For  one  thing,  I  have  not  seen  as  much  of  you  as  I 
should  like.  I  hope  the  deprivation  of  your  society 
will  end." 

It  did  not  occur  to  Cecil  that  he  was  purposely 
making  harder  what  she  had  to  say.  But  his  words 
nerved  her  in  a  manner  which  he  could  not  have  fore- 
seen. They  brought  to  her  mind  a  vivid  realization  of 
the  obligations  involved  in  her  bond,  and  a  passionate 
sense  of  the  necessity  to  end  that  which  she  could  no 
longer  trust  herself  to  fulfill. 

"What  I  meant  was — is — different,  very  different 
from  that,"  she  said,  in  a  quick,  tremulous  tone.  "  I 
have  to  beg  your  pardon,  I  have  to  humble  myself  be- 
fore you,  I  have  to  tell  you  that  I  am  unfaithful  to  the 
promise  which  I  gave  you,  and  that  I  beg  you  to  re- 
lease me  from  it." 

Silence  fell  after  she  had  uttered  these  words,  and 
it  seemed  to  her  that  he  might  have  heard  the  beating 
of  her  heart  through  it.  She  clasped  her  hands  tightly 
together  in  an  attempt  to  still  the  vibration  of  her 
pulses.     It  was  a  moment  of  sickening  suspense. 


TEE  SEADOW  OF  TEE  PALMS.  279 

Dorrian  broke  it  with  liis  customary  deliberateness 
of  manner  and  speecli.  The  habit  of  years  stood  him 
in  good  stead,  and  he  could  control  his  voice,  but  he 
knew  that  the  darkness  served  him  well  in  concealinof 
his  face.  "  You  mean,"  he  said,  "  that  you  wish  to  end 
our  engagement  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  grieved — oh,  believe 
me,  I  am  grieved  and  humiliated ;  but  is  it  not  best 
that,  when  such  a  mistake  has  been  made,  it  should  be 
ended,  rather  than  that  a  worse  mistake  should  fol- 
low ? " 

"What  is  the  mistake  that  you  think  has  been 
made  ? "  he  asked,  calmly. 

She  knew  that  she  was  to  be  spared  nothing ;  that 
she  had  given  this  man  a  hold  upon  her  which  he 
would  not  lightly  relax. 

"  The  mistake,"  she  said,  "  was  made  when  I  prom- 
ised to  marry  you.  It  was  my  fault,  and  you  can  find 
no  words  of  blame  which  I  shall  not  own  to  be  just." 

"  Unfortunately,"  he  replied,  in  an  icy  tone,  "  there 
are  some  conventional  rules  of  courtesy  which  prevent 
a  man  from  saying  exactly  what  he  thinks  of  such  a 
mistake.  You  will  allow  me,  however,  to  inquire 
when  you  discovered  it  ? " 

"  Long  ago — longer  than  you  will  believe,"  she  an- 
swered. "I  had  hardly  given  my  promise  when  I 
knew  that  it  would  cost  me  much  to  fulfill  it.  But 
now — "  She  paused  abruptly,  as  if  the  words  choked 
her. 

"And  now?"  he  repeated.  "You  will  complete 
your  confidence  by  infoi-ming  me  how  you  feel  with 
regard  to  it  now  ? " 


280  MIS8   CEUnCHILL:    A   STUDY. 

"  Yes,  if  YOU  wish  to  know,"  slie  gaid,  more  steadily. 
''  I  feel  now  that  anything  would  be  preferable  to  ful- 
filling it.  And  this  alone  has  nerved  me  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  to  humble  my  pride,  and  to  ask  you  to  re- 
lease me  from  a  promise  which  I  should  never  have 
giv^en." 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  In  truth,  his  im- 
pulse of  resentful  anger  was  so  strong  that  he  could  not 
trust  himself  to  speak.  He  had  condescended  to  this 
woman — he,  of  all  men  the  most  fastidious,  the  most 
"  difficult " — and  this  was  how  she  repaid  his  con- 
descension !  She  fluno^  carelessly  back  to  him  the  brill- 
iant  position  which  he  offered  her,  she  made  him  taste 
at  once  tlie  bitterness  of  rejection  and  of  betrayal ; 
above  and  over  all,  she  made  him  feel  that  he,  Dorrian, 
suffered  in  her  eyes  by  contrast  with  Bernard  Lysle ! 
The  last  was,  to  his  vanity,  perhaps,  the  shar];)est  sting 
of  all. 

''I  have  to  thank  you,"  he  said,  at  last,  "for  your 
frankness.  It  at  least  makes  sufficiently  clear  the 
meaning  of  this.  Is  it  necessary  to  say  that  I  restore 
your  freedom  with — may  I  be  allowed  to  say,  pleasure  ? 
l^othing  was  at  any  time  further  from  my  desire  than 
to  coerce  your  inclination.  It  would,  I  think,  have 
been  more  candid  if  you  had  spoken  earlier.  But  I 
am  not  too  dull  to  understand  how  and  why  your 
change  of  sentiment  has  been  quickened  of  late.  May 
I  be  permitted  to  inquire  when  Mr.  Lysle  will  rejoin 
you?" 

She  turned  toward  him  with  a  quick  movement  of 
indignation.  But,  remembering  herself:  "You  have 
a  right  to  ask  me  that,  or  anything  else,"  she  said,  "  a 


TEE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  281 

right  "^liieli  nij  own  miserable  weakness  has  given  jou. 
One  who  has  acted  as  I  have  done  can  not  resent  beino^ 
suspected  of  deeper  nn worthiness.  But  your  suspi- 
cion does  injustice  not  only  to  nie — that  does  not  mat- 
ter— but  to  Mr.  Lysle.  He  has  never  said  a  word  to 
me  that  you  might  not  have  heard.  He  has  been  to 
me  the  kindest,  the  most  generous  of  friends — but  that 
is  all.  When  we  parted  the  other  day,  it  was  without 
any  plan,  and  with  little  expectation,  of  meeting  again. 
If  I  knew  that  he  were  Ivino^  dead  to-niojht,  I  should 
still  say  to  you  exactly  what  I  say  now — I  have  found 
the  bond  which  unites  us  intolerable.  I  can  never  be 
your  wife." 

"Beheve,"  he  said,  with  bitter  coldness,  "that  I 
shall  never  again  ask  you  to  be.  Our  engagement  is 
dissolved  as  finally  and  completely  as  you  can  desire." 

The  moon — a  great  wheel  of  gold — was  rising  over 
the  Arabian  hills  as  she  drew  from  her  finger  the  glit- 
tering ring  of  her  betrothal  and  held  it  out  to  him. 

"•  You  have  a  right  to  be  indignant,  you  have  a  right 
to  despise  me,"  she  said,  with  a  humility  whicli  sat 
strangely  on  Cecil  Churchill.  "I  despise  myself  so 
deeply,  that  I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  be  reinstated  in 
my  own  esteem.  I  have  been  tempted  by  the  world  in 
a  way  that  I  could  never  have  imagined  possible — for, 
alas !  it  was  not  you  who  tempted  me,  but  the  things 
you  offered.  I  owe  you  this  confession,  in  order  to 
make  you  understand  how  little  you  have  to  regret.  I 
have  found  that  there  is  something  within  me  which 
not  even  culture,  luxury,  beauty  in  the  fullest  degree, 
can  satisfy.  So  I  will  go  unsatisfied  to  the  end  sooner 
than  barter  away  again  my  self-respect.     Here  is  the 


282  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY, 

symbol  of  all  that  I  resign.  Again  I  beg  your  pardon 
from  my  heart." 

He  took  the  ring  which  she  gave  him  and  looked  at 
it  for  a  moment  in  silence  ;  then  there  was  a  quick  flash 
of  gems  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  waters  of  the  river 
had  closed  over  it ! 

*'So,"  he  said,  "I  cast  away  even  the  memory  of 
an  episode  which  your  frankness  has  made  not  less 
humiliating  to  me  than  to  you.  In  return  for  this 
frankness  suffer  me  to  give  you  a  piece  of  advice.  If 
you  should  again  be  tempted  to  accept  a  man,  not  for 
himself  but  for  what  he  can  offer,  have  the  grace  at 
least  not  to  tell  him  so.  Spare  his  vanity,  if  you  have 
no  pity  for  his  heart." 

With  these  words,  he  turned  and  left  her.  The 
moon  was  now  fairly  above  the  hills,  and  its  rays 
caught  the  glitter  of  some  very  salt  and  bitter  tears 
which  dropped  like  the  ring  into  the  waters  of  the 
Nile. 


CHAPTER  YIII. 

It  was  on  the  deck  of  the  vessel  that  was  bearing 
them  back  to  Italy,  and  while  they  were  sailing  past  the 
shores  of  Greece,  that  Cecil  told  the  marchesa  that  she 
intended  to  return  to  America. 

''  Why  ? "  asked  the  latter,  somewhat  startled, 
though  she  had  known,  ever  since  their  return  to  Cairo, 
of  the  end  of  the  engagement  to  Dorrian. 

"  Because  I  see  no  reason  for  remaining  longer  in 
Europe,"  Cecil  answered.  "  It  has  been  a  mistake 
from  the  first.  Mr.  Lvsle  meant  it  in  kindness — but  it 
would  have  been  better  if  he  had  left  me  in  the  life 
where  he  found  me.  I  have  done  nothing  that  he 
hoped  I  should  do,  I  have  developed  into  nothing  that 
he  expected.  I  have  disappointed  myself  and  I  have 
given  pain  to  others — that  is  all.  So  the  sooner  I  re- 
turn to  obscurity  the  better." 

The  marchesa  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Kot  be- 
cause the  bitterness  of  this  self-accusation  surprised  her, 
but  because  she  was  uncertain  how  to  reply  to  it.  She 
was  touched  by  the  sadness  of  the  face  gazing  toward 
the  enchanted  isles  of  Hellas — that  mobile,  sensitive 
face  which  seemed  made  to  express  every  varying  mood 
of  feeling — and  after  a  short  hesitation  she  laid  her 
hand  down  on  the  hands  that  were  clasped  together  in 
Cecil's  lap. 


284  ^ISS  CUURCniLL:    A  STUDY. 

"  You  forget  7n<?,"  she  said.  "  You  forget  that  your 
companionship  has  been  a  great  pleasure  to  me,  and 
that  I  should  miss  you  very  much." 

The  large  golden  eyes  turned  toward  her  gratefully, 
but  did  not  lose  their  sadness. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  say  that,"  Cecil  answered, 
"  for  I  know  that  I  have  never  really  pleased  you — no, 
do  not  deny  it ! — you  have  only  been  kind  to  me  for 
Mr.  Lysle's  sake,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  such  kind- 
ness should  continue.  I  shall  probably  never  see  Mr. 
Lysle  again.  He  told  me  when  we  parted  that  he  did 
not  wish  ever  to  see  me  again ;  and  so  the  best  service  I 
can  do  him  is  to  go  where  our  paths  need  never  cross." 

^'  If  he  told  you  that,"  said  the  marchesa,  "  it  was 
because  he  thought — he  knew — that  you  were  engaged 
to  another  man." 

"He  was  not  thinking  altogether  of  that,"  said 
Cecil.  "  He  was  thinking — how  could  I  blame  him  ? — 
of  all  his  disappointment  in  me.  The  disappointment 
was  perhaps  not  altogether  my  fault.  He  imagined  me 
to  be  something  far  different,  far  nobler,  than  I  was — 
he  would  accept  no  warning  to  the  contrary — and  when 
he  learned  that  instead  of  having  a  heart  set  on  high 
ambitions,  I  was  allured  by  the  lower  things  of  the 
world  in  a  manner  he  could  not  understand,  the  fall  of 
his  ideal  was  complete.  And  you  know  one  can  not 
set  up  again  an  ideal  which  has  fallen." 

"  I  think  you  mistake  him,"  said  the  m.archesa.  "  I 
am  sure  that  he  has  never  done  you  any  injustice." 

"Injustice — no,"  was  the  quick  reply.  "He  did 
me  more  than  justice  once — and  when  he  learned  his 
mistake,  his  kindness  never  varied.     But,  through  the 


THE  SEADOW  OF  TEE  PALMS.  285 

kindness,  I  felt  the  disappointment.  How  could  it  be 
otherwise?  It  was  real  and  had  a  real  ground.  JS"© 
one  knows  that  better  than  I." 

Her  voice  fell  over  the  last  words  with  a  cadence 
as  of  one  accepting  the  inevitable.  There  was  silence 
for  a  minute,  and  then  the  marchesa  said,  gently : 

"  But  none  of  this  is  a  reason  for  leaving  me  and 
returning  to  bury  yourself  in  America.  I  confess  that 
until  very  lately  I  have  not  known  you  as  I  might  have 
done.  I  have  thought  of  Bernard  rather  than  of  you — 
that  was  natural,  was  it  not  ? — and,  so  thinking,  I  have 
been  inclined  to  condemn  rather  than  to  understand 
you.  But  I  am  more  reasonable  now.  Since  you 
ended  your  engagement  with  Herbert  Dorrian,  I  com- 
prehend you  better — will  jou  let  me  say  that  I  also  re- 
spect you  more? — and  since  it  requires  some  time  to 
make  a  friendship  in  any  real  sense,  I  think  you  will 
agree  with  me  that  we  have  reached  the  point  at  which 
such  friendship  is  possible.  Moreover,  you  see  for 
yourself  that  I  need  a  companion,  and  I  could  not 
readily  find  again  such  a  companion  as  yourself." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  Cecil  repeated,  "  and  I  under- 
stand all  the  kindness  that  makes  3^ou  speak  in  this 
manner.  But  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  hard  for  you 
to  find  a  companion  more  satisfactory  than  myself,  and 
I  am  sure  that  it  is  best  I  should  return  to  America." 

'^  Would  Bernard  say  so,  do  you  think  ?  " 

Cecil  paled  slightly.  "  I  can  not  tell  what  he  would 
say,"  she  answered ;  "  but  I  know  what  is  best  for  him. 
It  is  best  that  he  should  not  see  or  hear  from  me  again. 
In  return  for  all  that  he  has  done,  or  tried  to  do,  for 
me,  I  have  only  made  him  unhappy." 


286  MISS  GHURCEILL:    A  STUDY. 

"  But  the  time  mav  come  wlien  you  will  make  Lim 
liappy." 

Cecil  shook  her  head.  ''  That  is  impossible,"  she 
said.  '^  I  know  myself  too  well  to  think  of  it.  I  have 
no  power  to  make  any  one  happy.  He  knows  it  now. 
Dear  marchesa,  believe  me  it  is  best  that  I  should  go." 

"  It  is  not  best  that  you  should  go  immediately,  at 
any  rate,"  said  the  marchesa.  "  It  will  be  long  before 
Bernard  Lysle  returns  to  Europe.  Meanwhile  take 
time  for  reflection.  Do  not  decide  hastily  to  throw 
away  all  the  advantages  which  your  life  now  offers.  I 
shall  be  very  glad  if  you  will  stay  with  me.  I  think 
we  shall  grow  to  know  and  to  like  each  other  better 
as  time  goes  on ;  and  I,  too,  foresee  for  you  in  the 
maturing  of  your  powers  something  of  that  brilliant 
future  which  Bernard  predicted." 

''  Xo,"  said  Cecil,  quickly.  ''  That  was  a  dream  of 
his." 

"  I  have  faith  even  in  his  dreams.  But,  however 
that  may  be — wait.  Many  doubts  are  ended,  many  rid- 
dles solved,  by  time." 

Perhaps  Miss  Churchill  was  glad  to  be  urged  to 
wait.  At  least  she  said  no  more,  and  even  after  they 
returned  to  the  Yilla  Ferrata  she  held  her  peace.  She 
had  a  feeling  as  if  she  were  in  a  state  of  suspense,  as  if 
some  outward  agency  would  determine  her  decision 
and  her  movements  without  direct  action  on  her  part. 
What  this  agency  was  to  be  she  did  not  ask  herself — 
she  only  yielded  to  the  sense,  and  waited. 

Meanw^hile  her  second  spring  in  Italy  opened  with 
softest  beauty.  But,  in  the  midst  of  its  radiance  of 
color  and  perfume,  her  thoughts  returned  incessantly 


TEE  8EAD0W  OF  TEE  PALMS.  287 

to  tlie  parching  sands,  the  burning  suns  of  Egypt ;  she 
saw  the  tawny  current  of  the  Nile,  and  even  in  her 
dreams  she  wandered  amid  the  vast  solitudes  of  Kar- 
nak.  The  shadow  of  the  palms  fell  over  all  her 
thoughts ;  and  when  Hicks  Pasha  began  his  short,  suc- 
cessful campaign  in  the  Sennaar  district  against  the 
forces  of  the  Mahdi,  the  feverish  anxiety  with  which 
slie  looked  for  news  from  the  Soudan  became  almost 
unbearable.  Lysie's  own  letters  to  the  London  journal 
for  which  he  wrote  gave  this  news  in  the  form  for 
which  she  watched  most  eagerly ;  and  it  seemed  to  her 
as  time  went  on  that  life  became  little  more  than  a 
breathless  waiting  for  the  end — w^hich  came  at  last. 

It  was  a  day  of  early  May — a  day  of  divinest  beauty 
of  earth  and  sky.  The  marchesa  had  driven  with  a 
party  of  friends  down  into  Florence,  but  Cecil  re- 
mained at  the  villa.  Gayety,  noise,  distraction  irritated 
her,  and  she  shrank  from  them — preferring  the  deep 
solitude  of  the  old  garden  or  the  terraces  overlooking 
the  hill-sides,  where  under  the  lofty  stone-pines  or 
spreading  ilexes  the  ground  was  carpeted  with  the  blue 
of  the  wild  hyacinths  and  the  gold  of  the  wild  daffo- 
dils. On  this  day  some  subtile  consciousness  of  im- 
pending ill  was  with  her,  rousing  a  new  unrest.  Quiet- 
ness was  out  of  her  power ;  she  wandered  into  the  gar- 
den, and  finally  paused  by  the  fountain  with  its  moss- 
grown  basin  where  Lysle  and  herself  had  parted  once. 
How  vividly  his  face  rose  before  her  as  she  sat  there  ! 
She  saw  it  with  the  distinctness  of  a  vision — but  not  as 
she  had  seen  it  last,  either  there  or  elsewhere.  Was  it 
the  embodiment  of  her  fears  that  made  her  see  it  lying 
pale  and  still  on  the  desert  sands,  with  unseeing  eyes 


2S8  MISS  CnURCUILL:    A  STUDY. 

tui'iied  upward  to  the  sky?  She  uttered  a  low  cry, 
and  raised  her  hands  to  her  own  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out 
the  sight  which  seemed  to  come  with  all  the  force  of 
ghastly  prophecy. 

She  was  still  so  sitting  when  a  step  made  her  start, 
and,  looking  up,  she  saw  the  marchesa  standing  before 
her.  In  an  instant  she  knew  that  the  worst  had  come. 
One  glance  at  the  white  face,  the  sorrow-filled  eyes 
told  her  so.  But  it  was  as  if  she  had  been  told  some- 
thing that  she  knew  with  absolute  certainty  before. 
She  spoke — and  the  calmness  of  her  own  tones  startled 
her. 

"Mr.  Lysle  is  dead  !  "  she  said.  "You  have  heard 
it." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  marchesa,  in  a  voice  she  could 
hardly  control.  "  There  seems  no  doubt — no  hope. 
He  has  been  killed." 

"  Where  ? " 

"  In  the  fight  near  Gebel  Ain,  of  which  we  have 
already  heard.  He  exposed  himself  too  much,  and  he 
was  killed  by  an  Arab  spear." 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  Cecil,  with  the  same  strange  quiet- 
ness. She  extended  her  hand  mechanically  for  a  paper 
which  the  other  held.  "  Is  that  the  account  ? "  she 
said.     "  I  should  like  to  see  it." 

The  marchesa  res^arded  her  doubtfullv.  This  calm- 
ness  did  not  deceive  her.  She  had  an  instinctive 
knowledge  of  the  depth  of  the  wound  which  it  veiled. 

"  Do  not  read  it  now,"  she  said.  "  Wait  a  little. 
There  are  sad  details.  It  will  be  best  that  you  should 
not  read  it  here." 

"You  are  mistaken — it  is  best  that  I  should  read  it 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS.  289 

here,"  Cecil  answered.  "  It  was  here  that  I  wounded 
him  and  sent  him  away — here  that  I  made  the  choice 
by  which  I  must  now  always  abide.  Life  knows  no 
relenting.  It  is  useless  to  try  to  undo  what  we  have 
done.  The  end  has  come.  It  is  fitting  that  I  should 
hear  it,  that  I  should  learn  all  there  may  be  to  know — 
here." 

She  took  the  paj)er  which  the  other  reluctantly 
yielded,  but  as  her  eyes  fell  on  the  heading  of  the 
column  folded  outward — ''Details  of  the  fight  near 
Gebel  Ain.  Death  of  Mr.  Lysle" — the  strength  which 
had  so  far  sustained  her  suddenly  gave  way.  No  Arab 
spear  could  have  struck  with  more  deadly  force  than 
the  sight  of  this  announcement  in  its  cold,  calm  cer- 
tainty. She  gave  a  low,  gasping  moan,  and  dropped 
insensible  at  the  march esa's  feet. 

25 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Too  strong  in  youth,  and  health,  and  strength  to 
suffer  long  from  physical  prostration,  Cecil  rose  after  a 
few  days  and  came  forth  from  her  darkened  chamber 
to  face  the  world  which  had  been  so  suddenly  and  com- 
pletely emptied  for  her.  It  had  not  needed  the  agony 
of  those  days  to  teach  her  the  secret  of  her  own  heart, 
but  it  taught  her  the  strength  of  passion,  the  infinite 
bitterness  of  vain  regret,  with  a  force  and  keenness 
altogether  indescribable.  She  was  no  more  than  the 
pale  shadow  of  herself  when  she  emerged  for  the  first 
time  upon  the  broad  southern  terrace  and  looked  with 
eyes  that  the  gladness  of  Nature  could  no  longer  charm, 
over  the  glowing  beauty  of  Yal  d'Arno.  Tlie  soft  love- 
liness of  the  scene  seemed  to  mock  her,  recalling  as  it 
did  by  strength  of  contrast  that  other  scene  which, 
sleeping  or  waking,  was  ever  before  her  eyes — the  arid 
sands,  the  drooping  palms,  the  wide  African  sky,  and 
the  lonely  desert  grave  where  Lysle  lay  buried. 

Like  a  statue  she  stood,  leaning  against  the  balus- 
trade, her  eyes  on  Yallambrosa,  but  her  thoughts  be- 
side that  grave  in  the  far  Soudan,  when  the  marchesa 
walked  across  the  terrace  and  laid  a  hand  on  her  arm. 

"  Come,''  she  said,  "  and  sit  down  in  the  loggia. 
You  are  not  strong  enough  to  stand  here.'' 


TEE  SEADOW  OF  TEE  PALMS.  291 

"  Oh,  you  are  mistaken,"  answered  Cecil,  quietly. 
"I  am  strong  enough  for  anything.  You  need  not 
fear  for  me.  Heartless  people  are  always  strong. 
Nothing  can  hurt  me." 

"  And  you  think  yourself  heartless ! — But  I  will 
not  discuss  that.  Come — you  must  sit  down,  for  I 
want  to  talk  to  you.     I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

Cecil  turned  without  further  protest.  Something 
to  tell  meant  nothing — for  what  could  be  told  of  in- 
terest to  her? — but  she  was  too  indifferent  to  deny  any 
request  which  the  marchesa  chose  to  make.  She  walked 
across  the  ten-ace  and  sat  down  with  her  under  the  shade 
of  the  loggia — its  great  arches  framing  the  wide,  beauti- 
ful scene,  the  valley  swimming  in  amber  light,  the  dis- 
tant mountains  fair  as  hills  of  paradise.  There  was  a 
minute's  silence,  in  which  the  marchesa  seemed  to  hesi- 
tate.    Then  she  said,  gently  : 

"Do  you  remember  any  details  of  the  last  even- 
ing that  Bernard  spent  with  us  —  the  evening  at 
Luxor  ?  " 

Cecil  looked  at  her  with  eyes  full  of  wonder.  Did 
she  not  remember  every  detail  of  that  evening?  As 
she  gazed  at  the  heights  of  the  Apennines,  had  she  not 
seemed  to  see  the  moon  rising  over  the  Arabian  hills, 
and  the  dead  gods  of  Karnak  gazing  down  upon  her  ? 
That  was  the  living  moment :  this  the  dead  one.  She 
almost  heard  the  murmur  of  the  Nile  as  slie  answered : 

" I  remember  all  of  them — what  then? " 

"  Only  that  I  wished  to  recall  to  your  recollection 
that,  after  your  return  from  Karnak,  Bernard  went  on 
shore  again,  saying  that  he  wished  to  see  the  consul  at 
Laxor." 


292  MISS  CHURCHILL:    A  STUDY. 

Cecil  bent  Lei*  head.  "  I  remember.  And  wlien 
be  returned,  be  spoke  to  you  for  some  time  apart." 

"  Yes,  be  gave  me  two  letters — one  of  wbicb,  ad- 
dressed to  a  lawyer  in  London,  be  asked  me  to  mail  in 
Cairo.  '  It  contains  my  will,'  be  said.  '  I  bave  just 
been  to  tbe  consulate  to  liave  it  properly  witnessed. 
Wben  one  is  going  on  a  service  of  special  danger,  one 
sbould  be  prepared  for  accidents ;  and  I  bave  bad  an 
inspiration  wbat  to  do  with  my  worldly  possessions. 
Tbey  are  not  very  great,  and  no  one  has  any  claim  to 
tbem,  so  I  can  please  myself,  and  go  witb  a  ligbt  heart 
into  tbe  desert.  If  I  die,  I  can  bave  tbe  happiness  of 
thinking  that  by  dying  I  have  in  some  slight  degree 
served  one  whom  life  gives  me  no  power  to  serve.' " 

Cecil  uttered  a  sharp  exclamation.  "He  did  not 
mean  m^,"  she  said. 

"  Could  he  mean  any  one  else  ? "  asked  the  mar- 
chesa.  "  He  foresaw,  no  doubt,  that  your  engagement 
to  Herbert  Dorrian  would  be  broken,  and  be  feared 
that  the  want  of  independent  fortune  might  mar  the 
possibilities  of  your  life.  He  bad  no  one  to  consider ; 
no  one  nearer  to  him  than  a  cousin  ;  so  there  was  no 
reason  why  he  should  hesitate  to  leave  his  fortune  to 
you.  I  knew  what  be  meant,  although  he  uttered  no 
name.  And  to-day  I  have  a  letter  from  his  lawyer 
which  tells  me  that  my  conjecture  was  right.  He  has 
left  his  fortune — about  thirty  thousand  pounds — to 
you,  and  here  is  the  lawyer's  letter  to  tell  you  so." 

She  laid  the  letter  down  in  tbe  lap  of  tbe  other,  but 
Cecil  did  not  unclasp  her  hands  to  take  it.  She  was 
gazing  at  tbe  far  azure  heights,  and  thinking  w^ith  pas- 
sionate anguish  of  tbe  devotion  which  bad  thus  found 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PALMS,  293 

a  way  to  speak,  to  encompass  lier  life,  to  help  and  to 
touch  her  even  in  death.  For  a  moment  she  scarcely 
noted  the  marchesa's  words  as  the  latter  went  on  : 

"  And  the  other  package,"  she  said,  "'  contained  two 
letters — one  for  me  and  one  for  you.  Both  to  be 
opened  only  in  case  of  his  death.  After  his  death  I 
opened  mine.  In  it  he  begs  me  to  keep  you  with  me 
if  it  be  possible  to  do  so ;  he  reiterates  all  his  belief  in 
your  powers  and  in  your  future,  and  he  holds  that  it  is 
only  a  question  of  time  when  you  will  find  your  true 
place  and  true  work  in  the  world.  You  know  that  I 
did  not  need  this  request  to  urge  me  to  keep  you  with 
me.  I  have  told  you  before  that  I  beg  you  to  stay ; 
but  I  feel  now  that  what  I  ask  in  Bernard  Lysle's 
name,  you  can  not  refuse.  And  here  is  his  own  letter 
to  you,  inclosed  with  mine." 

Cecil's  hands  unclosed  with  passionate  eagerness  to 
take  that  letter — the  last  message  of  the  dead — and  the 
marchesa,  rising,  walked  away  and  left  her. 

When  she  returned  an  hour  later,  she  saw  that  all 
storm  of  grief,  all  doubt  or  indecision  was  past.  Tears 
in  hot  floods  had  rained  over  the  pages  in  which  Lysle 
had  written  out  his  heart,  but  the  assurance  of  his  infi- 
nite love,  of  his  respect,  his  tenderness,  his  faith,  had 
soothed  and  laid  to  rest  the  bitterness  of  grief  for  Cecil 
as  nothing  else  on  earth  could  have  done.  He  had 
thought  of  her  to  the  last,  he  had  given  her  all  that  was 
his  to  give,  he  had  gone  to  his  brave  death  with  a  lighter 
heart,  thinking  that  it  might  serve  her ;  and  although 
to  the  last  day  of  her  life  she  might  mourn  the  blind- 
ness and  folly  that  had  kept  her  from  him,  he  had 
taken  the  sharpest  sting  out  of  her  regret.     The  rest 


294  MISS  CHUB  CHILL:    A  STUDY. 

was  not  silence :  lie  liad  spoken  from  his  grave  by 
words  and  deeds  -which  her  heart  might  treasure 
always. 

When  the  marchesa  approached,  she  held  out  her 
hand.  "  Oh,  how  can  I  thank  you  ! "  she  said.  "  How 
can  I  thank  you — for  this  ?  But  for  you,  I  should  never 
have  had  it !  I  should  never  have  gone  to  Egypt,  and 
he  would  never  have  known — something  of  the  truth. 
He  never  knew  all,  but  he  guessed  something — thank 
God  and  you  for  that ! " 

"  And  you  will  do  wliat  he  asks — you  will  stay  with 
me  ? "  asked  the  marchesa. 

"  If  you  want  me — yes.  That  he  asks,  and  you  de- 
sire it,  is  enough." 

"  And  you  will  take  what  he  gives  ? " 

"  There  is  nothing  he  could  give  that  I  would  not 
take.  I  am  late  in  saying  that,  am  I  not  ?  But  life 
offers  ns  no  chance  to  repair  our  great  mistakes." 

"  Life — no,"  said  the  other,  with  gentle  solemnity. 
"  But  since  life  is  so  brief,  so  sad,  so  wholly  without 
lasting  satisfaction,  we  may  find  courage  in  believing 
that  eternity  holds  our  lost  happiness  for  us.  Listen  I " 
— it  was  the  Ave  Maria  bell  which  rang  out  softly 
from  a  little  chapel  hidden  in  the  chestnut-woods  be- 
low— "  come  and  let  us  pray  that  the  dead  may  find 
rest,  and  the  living  strength  to  fight  their  battle  to  the 
end." 


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